Fatherhood
by amitai
Summary: Ryan's father's out of jail and worming his way back into Ryan's life, trying to make sure everything's like it was way back when. This is one trip down memory lane Ryan never wanted to take... But the Cohens getting hurt instead is out of the question.
1. Ill timed favours

_Disclaimer: Sure, I was a bully at school,and I stole the other kids toys. On the other hand, the Warner Brothers Daddy, and Josh Schwartz Daddy (etc.)are all bigger than my Daddy, so they can have their toys back when I'm done._

_ And for all the stiff-ass lawyers out there? I don't own any part of the plots, characters, etc. of the O.C. In this way, any additional legal loopholes are jumped throught. HAH!_

_Ahem._

_OK, it's my first OC fic. Please be nice, and leave me a review! _

_Just my take on how Ryan's dad could have been. After all, SOMEONE (or something) made Ryan that quiet..._

Chapter 1 – Ill-timed Favours

"Don't worry, Kirsten, I'll go." Ryan offered, "It's no bother."

She shot him a grateful look. "Thanks, Ryan. It's just, with Dad coming, and Seth and Sandy out the house…"

"It's OK, really." He smiled. "It's nice to be able to help. Have you got a list?"

"Yes…" she fished in her hand bag. "Here you go. And here's some money to buy it, and… we still haven't worked out what food you like, Ryan, so if you see anything that you want, go for it, okay, honey?"

He smiled and nodded, knowing full well that there was no way in hell he was ever going to take her up on her offer. "Thanks." He ducked his head, and she smiled, putting one hand to his cheek, steering his head up so he looked at her.

"We need to get that self esteem up." She smiled, gently, and he shrugged, smiled, and gestured to the list.

"I should, er… get going." He muttered, and she released him.

"Ok – but you make sure that you're back soon, or I'm sending out a search party for you." He smiled politely. "Just remember that, Ryan. You _always_ come back to us when there's something bad going on with you, no matter what, got it?" His smile was grateful now. No politeness. It was strange how Kirsten Cohen managed to make everything into a "feel-better" moment. Stranger still how she managed to pull it off, every single time.

In the supermarket, he grabbed a trolley, and got going with the food shopping. He was half way down the list, searching for semi-skimmed milk, when a finger tapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, if it isn't my boy." Ryan frowned, and turned. What he saw shocked him.

"You're… you're out of p-prison." He stammered, unable to process it. Why wasn't he told? Why weren't Kirsten and Sandy told? Why was this man allowed near him, again, after everything… after everything he'd forced Ryan and his brother through?

"Talkative, as ever, aren't you, son?" Scott Atwood was the sort of man who people ran away from on principle. He certainly terrified his son.

"H-How long?" Ryan stuttered out.

"For good." Atwood smirked, deliberately misunderstanding his son.

"Since w-when, though?"

"'Bout three weeks ago. Got permission to see my youngest boy, though." Scott smirked again, and picked something out of the trolley. "Coleman's mustard mayonnaise." He read off, solemnly, then looked up at Ryan, with a cruel, mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, Trey said you'd gone up in the world… you must really be something, if rich people like this," he waved the expensive mayonnaise, "are keeping you just for that."

Ryan flushed, picking up on his father's meaning. He desperately wanted to just abandon the trolley, and run, run as far away from his dad as he could get, allow his body to indulge in the flight instinct that he only gave into when faced with one person.

His own father.

More than running away from him, though, he wanted to be violently sick. How did his dad do that? How did he manage to look at Ryan, no matter what was happening in his son's life, and play on his biggest fears, exploit his biggest weaknesses?

How had he known that that was what kept Ryan away at night, worrying? _What was it that the Cohen's wanted from him, after all this was done_?

He was brought back to earth, sweating and staring sickly at his father, by the crash of broken glass. There was mayonnaise all over the floor, and Scott just winked cruelly at his son.

"Butterfingers." He shrugged, and clapped him on the shoulder. "See you later, son." He said, jovially, and only Ryan caught the hidden meaning. To Ryan, it meant _watch your back, sucker_.

And as he dealt with the hovering sales assistant, 'Jean', or something, her badge said – who let him off paying for the mustard, because, as she said, later "_He really ought to be at home, running a fever like that. No wonder the poor boy dropped the thing – he could hardly see straight_!" – he couldn't help but worry about when his father was going to attack next.

When he got back with the groceries, the house was empty. Kirsten had left a note for him,

_Honey,_

_Sorry, I got called away, business emergency. Help yourself to whatever you want out of the fridge, and the groceries you've bought. Hopefully there's something there that you like!_

_Love, Kirsten_.

Despite the letter, since meeting his dad, the empty house seemed a threat. An abandonment – Kirsten had promised, hadn't she? She'd promised he could come back to them when something bad happened – suddenly Ryan felt very much like the child he'd never been allowed to be, desperate for the comfort he'd never had – solitude now seemed a terrifying prospect. He could never be sure that he was fully alone, he could never know when his dad was going to pop up. Swallowing, and reminding himself that he was too old to be afraid of being alone, that he had the Cohens now – _who wanted nothing back, nothing in return, they weren't going to turn around with their hands outstretched, and say 'well, where's the money you owe us' for everything, down to the toilet paper he used, they weren't going to beat on him for an accident, they were NOT LIKE HIS PARENTS, dammit!_ – he put the groceries away.

The pool house, however, was an entirely different thing. He didn't want to go in there. All of a sudden, his sanctuary, which he had prized for it's solitude, had turned into a place to avoid. He didn't want solitude. He wanted comfort.

And he had no idea how to explain this to anyone. With a sharp, surprising feeling of dread, he realised he was going to have to weather this one alone, like he always did, simply _because_ he always did.

Mentally he weighed pros against cons.

Of course, telling the Cohens about his dad was ludicrous. He had no right to inflict Scott Atwood on anyone, especially not people who had taken him in the way the Cohens had – _without wanting anything in return, without wanting anything –_ he just couldn't do it. On the other hand, if he told no one, he was screwed. Scott would have his son back if he wanted him, and that was that. Scott got what he wanted, especially where it concerned his family. Ryan choked down the throttling memories, stood with his hand on the door knob to the pool house.

With a deep breath, he swung the door open.

Scott wasn't sat on the bed, as he'd half expected him to be. Instead, the shower was running.

"H-hallo?" he called, haltingly. "Who's there?"

The shower stopped running. Ryan's blood froze. The door to the bathroom oiled open, and revealed…

Seth, dripping wet, wearing a towel around his waist.

"Oh, hey man." He greeted his brother cheerfully. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon. I found Mom's note, and I guessed you'd be shopping for a while longer. It takes _me_ forever. Sorry I'm here, and all, Rosa's upstairs cleaning, and, you know..." He grinned."Hey, are you OK?" he added, concerned, after examining Ryan for a brief moment. "You don't look so good…"

"What?" Ryan asked, absently. He focussed, and realised what Seth's question must have been. "Oh, n-no, I'm fine." He shrugged. "Just had a bit of a sc-scare."

"Must have been pretty bad." Seth frowned. "To have you stuttering, and all. What rattled _you_ so bad, dude? I mean, what's shattered the famous Ryan Atwood calm?"

It was on the tip of Ryan's tongue. He so _badly_ wanted to say "_My sexually and physically abusive father is going to be popping by sometime soon, it's got me a little worried_," but he knew he'd never dare.

"Oh, nearly hit someone's dog." He lied, fluidly. "Hey, it was a nice dog!" he said, when Seth raised an eyebrow in amusement. "And it looked a bit like that spaniel thing of Julie Cooper's."

"Oh, _now_ it makes sense. You don't mess with Julie Cooper's things." Seth looked sympathetic. "Oh, hey, she wasn't actually _there_ was she, dude? Cos, if she was, maybe you should think about having, like, you know, counselling."

"No, she wasn't." Ryan shrugged.

"Oh. OK. And, man, that thing's not a spaniel. It's a retriever."

"Seth, retrievers are golden or black. You don't get red retrievers, and that thing is _definitely_ red."

"Maybe it's special?" Seth defended himself, weakly, and Ryan hit him half-heartedly with a pillow, glad for the distraction of company.

Even if company _was_ a half naked, motor-mouthed Seth.

_What did you think? Worth continuing? (or at least, worth posting?) Was it trash? Were there spelling mistakes? Do you have a burning urge to tell me that you DO, in fact, get red retrievers? In short, would somebody SAY SOMETHING about this story? Please? I really do value an comments, despite my flippancy, praise or constrictuve criticism. Flames, as already stated somewhere, show a lack of creativity and a mean, unkind disposition, and are so worthless, they don't even value an emotional reaction. In the words of the old saying- if you have nothing nice to say, shut up. But anyone else, if you've seen a plot hole, or a typo, or bad grammar, please tell me. I would love to know, and it shows exactly the opposite disposition to a flamer if you do. It shows you've taken time and care to read someone else's work,and you're helping someone get better.So please... make a loser happy..._

_You know the best way to tell me, is to leave a review.It takes NO TIME AT ALL, trust me. I've done it..._

_Really - review or no - thanks._

_And apologies for my little, impromptu rant._


	2. Fear begets Vulnerability

_And here it is - the second chapter in an installment which promises to be Lord only knows how long. There are so many god-damn direction changes in this fic, I need a map to navigate it..._

_Oh, yeah, and I disclaim the OC. Not mine. Never was. Unlikely ever to be._

_Hope you like it. As with every fic writer out there, I beseech you - please, leave me a review?_

_So... enjoy, if you can!

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_

Chapter 2 – Fear Begets Vulnerability

Uncertainty and fear stole Ryan's health and sleep over the next week or so. He was so dreading meeting his father again, that he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't concentrate. He knew he was running a temperature, but he couldn't talk himself back into that legendary calm that had got him through everything, from school to AJ, and from prison to Newport society.

On the third day he'd turned down both breakfast and dinner, Kirsten eyed him worriedly, and said, firmly

"Ryan, why don't you let me take your temperature?"

Weakly, he'd resisted, but not too strenuously; he was grateful for the care.

She gave him the thermometer to put in his mouth, and while he was grateful for the care, he didn't want her to worry about him; when she went out of the room, he took it out again. He waited for it to settle back down on a safe thirty seven, watching as it dropped from a worrying forty one point three. He was so fascinated by the moving mercury that he didn't see Kirsten in the door way, one eyebrow raised.

"Put that thermometer back in your mouth RIGHT NOW, young man!" she said, firmly. He sighed, and obeyed, while she fussed around the room, and watched him.

After about five minutes, she took the thermometer back, and read off the temperature.

"Okay." She said. "I want you to get into bed, and wait there. I'm going to go ring the doctor, and then I'll come back in a bit with a drink of something, OK, honey?" he made no move to follow her instructions, and she frowned. "Ryan? Ryan, are you hearing me?" he shrugged, and sighed. "What's up, sweetie?"

"He won't find anything wrong with me." Ryan told her, tiredly. "I'm fine. I'm just… stressed."

"Well, Seth doesn't react like this when he's "just stressed"…"

"But I'm not Seth!" Ryan protested

"You've been with us for a while now, Ryan," she pointed out, and Ryan was forcibly reminded that she was not his mom. Sure, he'd known it from the start, but with his dad back, he'd… been trying to forget. "And in that time, you've burnt a house down, dealt with your girlfriend OD'ing in Mexico, had Julie Cooper and my father breathing down your neck, fought your way into a private school, and just dealt with a psychopath trying to steal your girlfriend and kill himself and ruin your life. If you're telling me you haven't been under stress already," she stroked some hair away from his forehead, and he stared at her, eyes glazed. "You'd be lying."

"It's just…" he sighed. "I've never been ill here before." She frowned, confused, and he tried to elaborate, though the explanation came out in a strange, fevered rush. "It seems like whatever I do takes something from you." And that was the second reason I'm not going to tell you about my Dad, he realised. "I wanted to be able to repay you one day, and all I do is go and get sick."

"Well, firstly, did you do this deliberately?"

"No…"

"Good. That could have been a _much_ bigger problem. And, Ryan, honey, we don't _want_ you to repay us." She smiled, gently at him. "Honestly. You're very sweet, but family doesn't expect money back on everything. We don't ask it from Seth, and we would _never_ ask it from you. If you're sick, we get a doctor. If you're finding work at school tough, we go and see your teachers. If you're in debt, we pay it first, then you pay _us_ back at your own speed. If you've been stupid, or broken a rule, we ground you. It's a parent thing." She smiled again, and he wanted so badly to smile back.

But he couldn't, because Scott could so easily break this woman in front of him. He couldn't allow her to be a decent parent to him when he knew that his Dad would show her how Ryan was parented. Would give Kirsten a taste of Ryan's medicine at the slightest provocation.

No. Ryan was certain. He was going to go along with her, and keep any feelings of gratitude or safety locked safely inside, where Kirsten would never find them, and therefore couldn't be hurt by them. He couldn't let her see that he was happy here; it was his way of repaying her. He wouldn't let her get hurt by him.

"So," that got his attention back to earth again. "You're going to get into your pyjamas, and get into bed before I call the doctor, OK?"

Ryan obeyed, as he was in the habit of doing, and she smiled at him, maternally, before leaning down to kiss him on the cheek, smoothing his hair back. Startled, he tensed, and she drew away.

"You're a good boy, Ryan." She said, and he smiled. He wasn't, not after Scott, but he liked it that she thought him good enough to call him that. No one had ever given him such basic praise before. "I'm going to get you a drink," she added, "And I want you to keep drinking until the doctor gets here. Is that OK?"

"Yeah." He rasped, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, that's…that's cool."

She brought him a glass of water, with ice, and moved the book "Kavelier and Klein", or whatever, nearer to him 'just in case he got bored'. Before she left, she looked back with a quick laugh, and said, sheepishly

"Of course, I forgot to ask you what your symptoms are. I'll need to know if I'm ringing the doctor…"

Ryan ran a brief self-assessment, and said, slowly, "Um… catarrh…" she nodded, obviously making a mental note of it, "Cold spells," another nod, "A headache and a sore throat, and I'm kind of… ache-y."

"Blocked nose, cold spells, headache, sore throat, muscle aches." She reeled off, and he nodded. "Okay. Keep drinking that, Ryan, and I'll be back when I've rung the doctor."

He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to do this, that he would be fine on her own, but was far too polite not to realise that it would potentially offend her, so was probably a bad idea. Ryan had worked out within three weeks that the last thing he wanted to do was hurt any of these people deliberately. He'd never had a family he cared about before; if this was how it felt, he was glad he'd never experienced it with Trey and Dawn. This vulnerability and protectiveness would have been hell to deal with in Chino, with Dawn so carelessly hurtful, and Trey so exploitative.

The doctor's examination was cursory at best; on looking at Ryan, he diagnosed flu immediately, and all the other evidence only served to back up the diagnosis.

"Ryan, have you had a cold recently?" he asked, with the air of one asking long used questions.

"Doc, we're in California." Ryan said, shrugging away from the intrusive hand kneading his throat, testing for swollen glands. "When the hell does it get cold enough to get a cold?"

"Ryan…" Kirsten said, in a warning, be-polite voice.

"Sorry." He apologised, sincerely. "Nope. No cold. Why?"

"Because an illness like flu is easier to contract when your immune system is lowered by an infection like a cold."

"Oh."

"So – no cold. Still, you definitely have the flu, young man. Plenty of vitamin C, foods with zinc, and lots of sleep, should help to cure you of it."

"Yay." Ryan said, unenthusiastically, and Kirsten brutally smothered the smile. It was her reaction exactly to all things doctor. Something told her that Ryan was going to be the worst patient _ever_.

And she was sadly proved very, very right

Except that Ryan was only able to keep it up for a little while; after a several days of grumpy confinement to bed, the fever really took a hold on her foster son, and he lapsed into delirium. It wasn't until over a fortnight later that Kirsten worked out what it was that had sparked this lapse.

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TBC...

Aren't I nice? I mean, sure, it's something of a cliffie, but, come on! You can guess, can't you? ;-)

Please review?


	3. Sacrificial Protection

Here you are - the long awaited for Chapter 3! Well, long awaited might be an exaggeration, but... yeah. The Chapter 3!

I really have to say a BIG thank you to everyone who reviewed me - you are all lovely, kind people, and you can all have virtual Christmas presents from me! Or at least a card. I mean... oh, have a cookie. Chocolate chip, anyone?

Seriously, though, everyone who has reviewed has made me feel warm and fuzzy and good about myself, which is no small thing to have done to someone. You've all been very kind and lovely, and if I haven't replied to your review, I'm sorry, but thank you very much anyway!

So - here is chapter 3, foreveryone who requested it,written in half an hour, and probably shocking... but written for your entertainment. Lol!

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Chapter 3 – Sacrificial Protection

Ryan felt like shit. He ached, his throat felt like it was caving inwards, his head felt like his brain had come up with an escape plan…and he was trapped. Still, he mused in grim good humour, he hadn't been sick yet.

Kirsten, after taking a couple of days off work, to be with Ryan in case of any major developments, had been forced to go back to work by her father, and, apologising profusely, had left that morning. Sandy, who had volunteered to take over when Kirsten had to work, had suddenly been over loaded with work, and had to guiltily back out. In compromise, Rosa was being paid to work over time, and be with Ryan.

Rosa and Ryan got on like a house on fire, so it wasn't that Ryan was uncomfortable with her – hell, it had been Rosa who got him really comfortable in the first place, she appreciated his house work skills, and the praise had helped him feel like he wasn't worthless in the Cohen house… until she had firmly pointed out that he didn't need to do it. Still, that didn't help Ryan. He couldn't risk his dad turning up and meeting Rosa. _No one_ even vaguely related to the Cohens was going to get hurt by Scott Atwood. Not even Caleb.

No matter how tempting Ryan might find that thought at the moment. He smiled, weakly, and gave himself the excuse of mental strain.

He knew he was trapped, because he'd tried getting up and walking around, but, like most invalids, his legs weren't really working. They were just… supporting, and barely managing that.

Ryan looked at the huge array of citrus fruits on the opposite chair, and then peeked under his bed. There were several pieces under there, as well; to appease Kirsten, Ryan had taken bits off the enormous pile she had left on hand "just in case". Ryan hadn't been sick yet – and he wasn't planning on tempting fate any further than he had to.

He couldn't sleep, and couldn't eat; the antibiotics Kirsten was forcing down his throat were useless, and, much though he wanted to point out to her that the flu was a virus, and therefore immune, he couldn't really; every time he tried to rasp out some words, the Cohens immediately ran to get him a glass of water, which he then could never drink.

It was starting to get a little frustrating.

Ryan _hated_ being sick. He hated being vulnerable, and, for the first time, he hated worrying the people he was with. It wasn't like that was something he'd ever had to worry about in Chino, or Fresno. His mom and his dad had never really been big on the nursing thing, and his mom's boyfriends were all for burying Ryan before he was dead. This caring, worrying attitude was entirely new to Ryan.

So, yeah, he hated being sick. But most of all, right now, he hated being vulnerable.

Rosa was watching TV in the sitting room, ready to spring up at Ryan's shout, and Ryan was dozing feverishly, when somebody sneaked across the patio, and into the pool house.

That somebody sat on the bed, and Ryan jerked awake to find a hand across his mouth.

"Hey, son." Scott Atwood hadn't shaved; his beard was ratty, and he smelt badly of sweat and cigarettes and some indefinable ex-convict stench, that Ryan couldn't help but recognise. He wasn't thin though, so he'd obviously got hold of money somehow. Ryan really didn't want to delve any further into what that "somehow" was.

Ryan nodded at him, and his father gave a low, amused laugh.

"I forgot. Out of hearing, out of mind, right, Ryan?"

Ryan shrugged.

"Christ, are you actually a _mute_, kid?" Scott asked, laughing at his own joke. "What'd they do to you here, take your vocal chords out?"

Beyond a surprised expression that Scott actually knew what vocal chords were (which Scott misinterpreted), Ryan gave no reaction at all.

"Just came to tell you that your old man's leaving." Scott said, and Ryan's expression flitted between overjoyed and surprise, then back again to impassive. "Like I said, I got permission to see my youngest boy." He grinned, ferally. "I'm not gonna take you away from these rich fucks just to get shoved in prison for breaking parole."

Ryan shrugged again.

"But don't worry, son." Scott told him, expansively. "You'll be back with your old man soon enough."

_Wonderful_, Ryan thought. He stared at the opposite wall, and ignored his father.

"You know," Scott mused. "I went through the entire house, looking for you. Picked up some nice stuff; wanna see?"

No, Ryan did not "wanna see". He wanted to pretend that his dad was still safe in prison, nowhere near Ryan, and certainly nowhere near the Cohens, and _definitely_ not near enough to steal their things.

Too late now, though.

"Here you are." He picked up some of Kirsten's favourite jewellery, and Ryan shook his head, frantically. "Oh, so _that_ got a reaction!" Scott laughed, and Ryan deflated. He couldn't win this unless Scott decided to let him. "How 'bout _this,_ then?"

It was a silver bowl from Kirsten's mother. Various other Cohen treasures were paraded before Ryan's eyes, each one emotionally precious, as well as valuable. Ryan was defeated.

"But, you know what?" Scott said. "I'm not gonna take these." Ryan looked confused. "Nah… you'd tell these lovely people about it, and then we'd never get to be together, me and my boy – you'd have me in prison again soon as possible, wouldn't you, you back-stabbing little bastard?" Ryan ignored him. "So, here's the deal. I'm gonna leave them here with you, and the bastards will find it, and, oh! They won't want a foster son anymore… _will they_, Ryan?"

And Ryan had to admit that he was right, much as he hated him and it. If they found out that Ryan was stealing from them, they'd never want him in the house. If it were Ryan, he wouldn't have wanted him in the house.

Ryan's dad stowed the stolen things somewhere behind the bed, and came back, looking at his prone son. Ryan ignored him, again.

When he'd been little, and his dad used to stare at him like that, he used to get so scared, he'd run, and not even care where he was going. It never worked; children _cannot_ outrun adults. Ryan was – broken – by him enough times to realise that. As he got older, and Trey realised what was going on, Trey used to do something distracting, take a beating for Ryan… Trey was a good brother, back then. Back then, Trey was Ryan's sun. He knew that, somehow, their dad had a thing for Ryan, hated him too much, liked him too much, and he'd helped him, the only way he knew how… but now? Now, Ryan had dealt with more bastards like his dad than he even wanted to acknowledge were alive, and he knew that the one way to deflect them was to pretend like you didn't care. Like everything they said was bouncing off stone. Half the fun was in the reaction.

The only problem with his dad was that Ryan had never practised with his Dad. His dad had scarred him first, and Ryan couldn't forget it.

"You grew up well, Ry." He said, and Ryan ignored him. "Too well." Ryan shrugged. "So… I'm going now, but you just remember your old man. Remember I'm coming back. In fact…" he sunk a fist into Ryan's gut, and Ryan was forced to react, curling in on himself, and twisting to stave off the vomit he knew was coming. "There's something remember me by." He left, and Ryan made it to the bathroom.

He hadn't vomited before, and he'd counted himself lucky. Now, being sick was the last of his worries.

Ryan picked himself up off the floor of the bathroom, and, clinging to the edge of the basin, brushed his teeth and washed his mouth out to rid himself of the taste of vomit and defeat. Then, he went and did what any sane person would have done – he found the bag of misplaced goods, and replaced everything in it. It was the least he could do.

Given the added mental strain of his father's visit, and the un-needed physical strain of his hike around the house, Ryan's illness couldn't help but worsen. The coldness and tiredness from the "hike" pushed his fever upwards, and his mental strain gave him the push into delirium.

When Kirsten got home from the office, and went to check on Ryan, she found Rosa knelt next to the boy, who was thrashing on the floor, in the throes of a waking nightmare.

"Oh, my god." She said, a hand flying to her mouth; the shock of seeing her son on the floor, in such spasmodic movement, when she'd been used to him lying lethargically on the bed, was much higher than she'd been expecting. "Okay, Ryan?" she knelt by him, too. "Ryan, honey, it's Kirsten. It's your…" foster mother didn't seem like much of a comfort at the moment. "It's your mom. It's OK, I'm here…"

It didn't calm Ryan at all; they just had to wait it out. When Ryan was back on the bed, and calm, she turned to Rosa with wide, worried eyes, and said, in a hushed voice

"What in God's name caused _that_?"

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Next Chapter: Some Ryan/Sandy, Ryan/Seth moments

a serious Kirsten/Sandy conversation

Some family bonding

Sandy finds out that Scott Atwood is out.

Basically, there's just gonna be some more of the Cohens as a whole in it. I may not be very good at it, but I really will try, and it _is_my first OC fic. Please be nice - go easy on me!

Next Chap. Should be longer than these piddling little things. I hope (grins). I'll try.

TBC…

And that little "review" button? Is calling your name for a _reason_…


	4. Interactions with the Unconscious

Ah hah! Did I or did I not promise that this chapter would be longer? And is it not longer? Aren't you all just so proud of me? (dimples proudly). It doesn't really matter, you understand. Because if you're not proud of me, I AM! This story is a whole 21 pages long... not the longest thing I've ever written, but it's still LONG. And getting longer, folks; this thing has a LOT of themes. It's a sick-fic, and a Ryan's-dad-fic, and an adoption-fic, and a dealing-with-Ryan's-issues-fic, and, to top it all off a MAYBE happily-ever-after-fic. But... that depends on you guys. What d'you think? Should I make him happy? Really? I mean, I know where this fic is going, vaguely, but the ending is dim and hazy... could spin either way - or could have a sequel. I'm taking votes!

And thank you so much to all my wonderful reviewers - ye olde faithful who are reviewing each chapter, and the new ones who are jumping on this little bandwagon thing I've got going on. 35 reviews! My, I'm popular. I love all of you, in a completely platonic way. You're all great, kind, lovely people, and I foresee a happy future for all of you. Because, of course, I am psychic.

And, Disclaimer: Josh Schwartz gave me the OC for my birthday. Really. Honestly. Completely 100 truthful. Which is, of course, the reason that you have to come to to read what I have to say. Duh.

In other words? Nope, not me.

Here it is - the awaited Chapter 4!

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Chapter 4: Interactions with the Unconscious

When Sandy got home from his court case, Seth and Kirsten were in the pool house watching as Ryan tossed on the bed. Every time Ran managed to displace one of the blankets they had draped over him, one of them would silently reach over and pull it back into place.

There was no noise in the pool house, just Ryan's heavy, tormented breathing, and the sound of material lisping against material.

"How is he?" Sandy asked his wife, nodding towards Ryan. It was Seth who answered.

"He's got a temperature of a hundred and four." He said, his voice hollow. "The good doctor said that all we could do for him was keep him drinking and keep him really warm, to sweat the fever out. He said that if his temperature rises anymore, we should ring him, and he'll get Ryan admitted into the hospital."

Sandy looked at his foster son, at the sweaty blond hair, and fever-flushed face. "Did he say what the chances were?" he asked, quietly.

"No." Kirsten shrugged, pulling a dislodged blanket back into place, and smoothing her son's sweat-slicked hair back off his face, where it was clinging to him. "He just said that the fever would either break, or it wouldn't. He didn't say how likely it was."

"I guess someone's got to be with him all the time?" Sandy continued his questioning, and Kirsten nodded, silent in the face of Ryan's illness. Words just didn't seem enough, and Kirsten thought that perhaps, just perhaps, this was why Ryan was so silent. But she didn't want to think about what could have happened to a sixteen year old to make words so pointless permanently. "And when did you last take his temperature?"

"About twenty five minutes ago." Kirsten told him, quietly.

"What was it?"

"Steady hundred and three point nine."

"Right. Have the two of you been in here since Seth got back from school?"

"No." Seth looked away, guiltily. "I was kinda with Summer for a bit after school, and then mom rang me, because Ryan had gone schizo on her. Apparently the doctor couldn't come, and she needed to go down to the surgery to kick his ass,"

"Seth!"

"Kick his rear," he amended, fluidly, "but she couldn't leave Rosa on her own, with Ryan, like, having fits all over the place. So I came home, and she fetched the good doctor."

"Right." Sandy said.

"I would have come home straight away," Seth couldn't meet his parents' eyes, and so stared at his foster brother, "But I didn't think Ryan was like really bad. I just thought he had flu."

"He does, honey." Kirsten told him, "It's just bad flu. There's nothing that you could have done about it."

"Right." Sandy took charge, and Kirsten gave him a half-annoyed, half-grateful look. "OK, well, you two need a break. Then, Seth, you'll be "on guard" after me, and then your mother and I will take turns through the night…"

"Why can't I be on during the night?"

"You've got school tomorrow morning…"

"You've got work." Seth countered.

"No." Kirsten said, contemplatively. "I don't think I'm going."

"You go, I'll stay." Sandy said. "It's my turn, anyway."

"Right." She nodded. "Sandy, are you gonna be OK?" he nodded. "And what do you want for dinner? There's cheese on toast,"

"Which she'll burn." Seth interjected.

"Cheese sandwiches,"

"Which she'll mangle." Came the gloomy prediction.

"Or baked beans on toast."

"Which she'll cook till they go dry."

"Seth, could you cook dinner?" Sandy asked, quickly. "Oh, no offence, honey, it's just… you're no good. Seth?"

"Right. Operation Food Protection underway." He nodded, and Sandy grinned as his wife left. Seth hung back for a few minutes, looking at Ryan, and avoiding his father's stare.

"Dad…" he began, tentatively, picking up a blanket, and folding it compulsively. "Umm… you know, when Ryan talks about getting his ass kicked?" Sandy nodded, his expression tightening. "What does he mean? I mean…" he hurried on, before Sandy could misinterpret him. "Who? And… when?"

"Seth, you gotta understand something about Ryan." His father said, heavily. "Ryan… Ryan has some difficulties with trusting us. And he's a clever kid," Seth nodded, and Sandy acknowledged that, saying, "Like you knew. But… you see, Seth, all kids who grow up like Ryan – or like I think Ryan did – have it drilled into them that they don't want their bruises to be found and explained properly. The abuse is alright. It's not a bad thing – or it's their fault. There's always a reason for it…"

"Kids are told that, when parents hit them, it's their fault?" Seth asked, sceptically, his eyes wide nonetheless.

"It's a pattern of abuse, yeah." Sandy nodded, dragging a hand down his face. "And Ryan's too clever to get caught. So… what I'm trying to say is, I think Ryan was abused, yes. Pretty badly, maybe, but I can't prove it. It's not on his file, and like I said, he doesn't trust us… he doesn't trust _anyone_ enough to tell them. Look, his dad was put away for armed robbery; one of his mother's boyfriends was imprisoned for drug-possession with intention to deal. But nowhere on Ryan's file – or on the file of anybody connected to Ryan – does it mention abuse."

"But… his mom just dumped him, and ran away!" Seth protested, half-angrily, but still doubting; except now the doubt was aimed at the system, a system which he was suddenly noticing was flawed; still, he didn't want to believe it could be this negligent. "She didn't care what happened to him, that's – that's _gotta _count as some sort of abuse… neglect, or something!"

"It never came to light, did it?" Sandy pointed out, reasonably. "No one asked why Ryan was going into foster care; it just happened. Parents can do that – just turn up with their kids, and leave them. No one knows why they're there. They just are. Sometime the physical examination will show bruises pointing to abuse, sometimes they're marked, but parents can just dump their kids, and leave them. It happens."

"But not to Ryan and me, right?" Seth asked, almost-joking.

"No." Sandy replied, seriously. "Never to you, and never again to Ryan." He stayed silent for a moment, staring at Ryan, then he moved to pick up the boy's hand. He looked at it, examining it closely, twisting his arm gently to look at the palm. "If I wanted," he said, softly, so quietly that Seth almost missed it as he opened the door to leave, "If I wanted," Sandy repeated, obviously not aware that his son was still listening, "I could have your mother sued for abuse." He continued, looking at Ryan. "I saw what she did to you. I heard her telling you to rot. I saw the bruises on your face when I picked you up, and I saw the shit she made you live in. I saw the blood on the carpet of your room, Ry, and if I thought that it would make life for you any better or any easier by getting your mother done for abuse, I'd do it in a flash. But it wouldn't. I wouldn't do that to you, when it would only make things harder for you."

"What if she deserves it?" Seth asked, fiercely, from the doorway, and Sandy jumped. "What if she deserves to go to prison for that?"

"I think Ryan would be the first person to tell you that no one deserves prison." Sandy told him, gently, and Seth flushed, a quick, hot rush of guilty blood to the face. "And I think that Ryan's spent too long protecting his mom from things to want her in prison, no matter what. She wasn't bad, Dawn, she… she was just weak. Too weak to be a mother. She didn't know how to live in the world she found herself in, so she didn't bother; and, in any case, it wasn't her who did the really terrible things to Ryan – and to Trey, too – it was her boyfriends who did it. She just betrayed them by letting it happen."

"Doesn't that count?" Seth queried. "Isn't that bad enough, that she didn't care enough to stop it? I know if Mom did anything like that, I'd…"

"Your mother is much stronger than she looks." Sandy smiled, reassuringly. "She'd never, ever let it happen to either of you."

"I know, but, y'know, hypothetically if she did, it'd be worse than if she'd actually hit me. You said you could get her done for abuse – how, if she didn't actually hit them?"

"There's more types of abuse than just physical abuse, Seth." Sandy pointed out. "But she wouldn't get a long sentence, and she'd be out in time for her active hatred to really damage Ryan. I won't let that happen."

"I'm sorry." Seth shrugged. "I just don't want to think about it. I mean – Ryan's Mr. Tough-Guy, isn't he? And here's the thing: normally it's Ryan hitting or being hit by people he has a hope in hell of defending himself against – people his own sort of size and stuff. I guess…. I guess I just can't deal with it when it's Ryan being hit by someone he can't defend himself against. It's just so much easier to imagine that they all realise what they've done, now. It… it feels like Ryan's safer, does that make sense?" Seth was, for once, struggling to get his thoughts into words. "It feels like they know the they were bad for him, so they'll stay away. It feels like Ryan's permanent here. It feels…"

"Seth." His father interrupted him. "It's OK. No one knows how to talk about this sort of thing."

"Yeah." Seth looked sheepish.

"Oh, and tell your mother I'll risk the cheese sandwich, would you? I think you need to lie down." Sandy called after his son, as he headed towards the house. His only answer was an indignant snort.

Ryan had lucid moments. There were occasions when Sandy, sitting by his bed and staring at his foster-son's hand in his – how had he ended up with a foster son, after all? How was this amazing, clever, tragically fucked up kid in his life, how had he deserved to get so lucky as to not only get Seth, his miracle baby, and worth every sleepless night, but also to manage to get and keep hold of Ryan? Where had this come from? Sandy knew that many people wouldn't count having Ryan Atwood in their homes as a miracle, that indeed, had Ryan Atwood been in anyone else's home, he would have been shamelessly taken advantage of, but, Sandy countered himself stubbornly, they didn't know his Ryan. Sandy hadn't known that it was possible to feel tender anger, but it was; he was furious, but it was a fury that made him want to protect, a fury that was for Ryan, not at him. Then again, he mused, Ryan had brought so much into his life – when he would look up and see Ryan's eyes on his face, searching for something.

He would smile, and Ryan would lean back, reassured. Whatever it was, he'd obviously found it – or found an approximation so close that it bought him off, for the moment. Until he woke up again the next time.

In these moments of lucidity, Sandy would typically make Ryan drink a glass of water all in one go, rather than the tortuous dribbles that Sandy had been trickling into him when he was in a fever-induced mix of unconsciousness and sleep. He would reassure him with soft words and pet his hair and pat his hand, and make promises that he knew he could never keep, but which he knew all the way to his bone marrow that he would try to.

At about nine o'clock, half an hour before Seth was due to come "on-duty", Ryan's eyes fixed themselves again on Sandy's face, and Sandy said, smiling warmly

"It's OK. It's all OK, Ryan."

"Yeah." Ryan rasped. "It's OK."

Sandy murmured to him, softly, and Ryan closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep again.

Eventually, he spoke up. "Sandy." He said, cautiously, in a hoarse, strained voice. "What would you do if you found out you weren't Seth's dad?"

Sandy was shocked, but his typical sense of humour kicked back into place with the worst possible timing. "Ryan, do you know something I don't?"

A dry, over-bright blue eye cracked open. "No." Ryan forced out, "But, would you still feel the same way about him?"

"I'll always love Seth. And you, Ryan."

"But…you'd never… you'd never hurt Seth, would you?" At first Sandy had been convinced that Ryan was asking these questions for self-reassurance, but it was becoming apparent that he was asking for Seth's benefit, so that Ryan would _know_, and be able to protect. Sandy resisted the urge to check that Seth wasn't standing in the doorway, listening.

"No. Never. Or you, Ryan. What's brought this on, hey?" he asked, gently, rubbing the back of Ryan's hand with a soothing finger.

Ryan was starting to sink back into the delirium, but he staved it off for long enough to mutter out, "I…could never protect anyone. I only… managed to get… Theresa out of my house once… just. She didn't come… didn't come into the house much, after… after that. My mom… he – they – beat on her when we weren't around…could never stop them. You were… you were different. I just need to know that you're different… different enough…"

"We're different enough." Sandy promised, giving the hand he held a little squeeze.

"So glad," Ryan murmured, as he dropped slowly out of consciousness. "You fought for me." Sandy had to lean forward to hear what Ryan was saying. "M' mum an' Dad fought _about _me," Ryan's voice was beginning to take on the slurred quality of one very nearly asleep, "An' Trey fought _with_ me… bu' no-one's ever fought _for_ m'…"

Ryan was asleep again, and Sandy held his hand quietly, gave him water, and was glad that he'd fought for him too.

Seth replaced Sandy nearly a quarter of an hour later, and kept himself busy with his homework, pausing occasionally to pour a little water in Ryan's mouth. It felt weird, spoon feeding his brother like this. Ryan was such an independent person, Seth couldn't reconcile him to the helpless boy on the bed; and he was shocked beyond shocked to find that he wasn't sure which he preferred. The Ryan he knew was _so_ independent… it was nice to have him slightly less guarded. Seth liked that he felt needed by Ryan. He liked it that, in some ways, he could repay back what he owed; he was horribly torn between being furious that Ryan had so obviously never been taken care of when he was sick before, and the happiness that they were giving Ryan these better memories of being sick. Ryan finally belonged.

Like his father before him, Seth found himself distracted from his work by Ryan. He caught himself staring at his brother, just thinking **_unconnected_** thoughts about him.

One of the hardest things that Seth knew about Ryan was that Ryan was so much younger than him. Seth's own birthday was the fourteenth of September; Ryan's was the twelfth of July. That made Seth almost an entire year older than Ryan, and Seth both liked and disliked that.

Seth was perfectly willing to admit that he was a selfish guy; he knew it as well as anyone, but Ryan brought out the best side of Seth, in many ways, at least when he was vulnerable. They had a strange relationship; there was always one who was strong, and one who was weak, at any given time. Except when one of them screwed up.

Ryan brought out the side of Seth that was most like his Dad. Seth had grown up hearing about his Dad's amazing drive and compassion, and Ryan's arrival had got Seth to realize that he had inherited that, at least in part. He, Seth Cohen, was fucking furious about what had been done to Ryan; he, Seth Cohen was damned if it was going to happen again. Full stop. End of story.

All in all, he thought, they were as lucky to get Ryan as Ryan was lucky to get them. They had been a family before; they had eaten together, spoken with each other, and Seth had enjoyed his dad's wicked sense of humour, and admired his mother's unquestioning kindness and generosity. But that had been all he'd seen. Ryan had arrived, and somehow the Cohen household had snowballed headlong into one big happy family. Quite what _that _said about them, he wasn't sure, but his mom had stopped having midnight phone-calls with contractors; his dad had obviously figured that he'd pushed his luck with bringing his work home, and now they spent time together outside of meals. They actually spoke with each other. His parents were not just parents; they were people. Unfortunately, they were people with far-too-obvious sex lives, but they were people nonetheless.

Seth was so busy thinking, he didn't realise that Ryan was awake.

"Oh, hey buddy!" he said, quickly, "Y'know, I've been thinking, this being ill thing of yours? Could totally be a good thing, I mean, you've got the whole brooding bad-boy image, you could go for the sympathy vote now. I mean, you could totally be the most popular guy in Harbour by the time you leave. With the ladies, anyway. And hey, I could teach you water-polo, so you could get in with the guys, too…"

"Seth," Ryan's voice was so quiet, he almost mouthed the words. "You suck at water-polo."

"No, I don't, Ryan, that is a myth cultivated by those who find it amusing to piss in other people's shoes." Seth said, with what he liked to think of as quiet dignity. "I just don't play it."

"First rule?" Ryan had obviously given up on full sentences. That, or he had worked out a while back that you didn't have the time for much else around Seth.

"Beat the opposition."

"Second rule?"

"Um… make sure there's water in the pool?"

"Point proven."

There was a brief silence. Very brief. Seth considered himself allergic to silence on principal, or so Ryan was completely convinced.

"Do you want a drink? Cos there's loads of water around here – the ice melted, but I can get you some more, if it's too warm… I… haven't taken your temperature yet, so I don't know if the fever's down any, but we've gotta keep you drinking, how are you feeling?"

"Did you stop for breath?" Ryan said, in his new half-whispered, half-mouthed voice.

"Yes I did. What's your answer?"

Ryan considered lying. Then shrugged. "I feel a bit better. Not so hot."

"Right. Water. No, temperature first. Here, stick this in your mouth." Seth shoved the thermometer into Ryan's mouth, and Ryan winced slightly, but waited in silence, feeling drowsy, as the mercury rose again.

Seth carefully read off the number, and grinned. "One-oh one point five!" he grinned. "Here, drink this…" Given the way he'd acted with the thermometer, Seth was surprisingly gentle with the water. "Enough?" he asked, and Ryan nodded. "OK, I'm just gonna go and tell Mom and Dad that your temperature's down, and then I'll be back, OK, buddy? You want anything? The new _Legion_'s pretty cool…"

"I think I'm just gonna keep sleeping." Ryan whispered, and shut his eyes. Even Ryan's obvious weakness, and his persistent "not well" air, Seth couldn't help but feel relieved. Danger zone: navigated safely.

He paused outside the kitchen door, watching with interest the conversation going on in the kitchen.

His mother said something to his dad that he couldn't hear through the glass; his dad's eyebrows knitted together in a worried frown, and he replied slowly. Seth's mom obviously pushed for a more definite reply, Sandy's frown changed from worried to angry, and his voice rose to the point where Seth could hear it outside the kitchen, on the patio.

"What do you want me to do, Kirsten, kick Ryan to the curb?" Seth checked hurriedly that the pool house door was still closed, and then opened the door in time to hear his mother's reply

"Of course, Sandy, that's exactly what I want you to do!"

Seth stood frozen, silhouetted in the door by the twilight. Slowly, his parents turned to look at him.

"I came to tell you that Ryan's temperature's down." He said, stiffly.

"That's… that's great, honey." Kirsten dredged up a smile, and pushed her hair out of her face.

"Yeah." He said, tightly. "I'm sure you're _really glad_, the pair of you, aren't you?"

"Yes, we are, actually." Sandy nodded, giving his wife a guilty look. "You overheard the bad end of a conversation, Seth."

"Oh, gee dad, I'd never have noticed that." Seth said, angrily. "You may not like it, but Ryan _is_ in that pool house, andyoutook on responsibility for him,which you can't just drope. He's staying, or I'm going. Swear to God, Dad,if he goes, I go with him. Me and Ryan are a package deal now. I'll put _myself_ in foster care if you put Ryan there."

"Ryan's not going anywhere." Kirsten said, firmly.

"Well, good…"

"We were discussing what happens to Ryan after his eighteenth birthday." Sandy said, and Seth stared at him, a sudden sick feeling coating the pit of his stomach. Of course. Ryan wouldn't be a part of their family then. "We… said the wrong things to each other. We want Ryan to stay – but we can't pressure him into it. Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want him to stay?"

"Yeah." Seth nodded, for once in his life without words. "I-I want him to stay."

It was Kirsten who had The Great Idea first. "Well, the only way to keep hold of him after his eighteenth is to adopt him."

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Go on. Please. 


	5. Shoved through the Valley of Death

Hi. I am so sorry for the long delay! But, you see... there was a problem. A problem otherwise known as... boarding school.

Yes, I go to boarding school - and I'm very fond of it, actually, I've been boarding since I was ten, and I've never really been homesick. But my particular boarding school (Like, I have to say, most others) blocks leaving me up st creek without a paddle when it comes to updating. Here is chapter five - written with love and attention, though not my best work, and please excuse Marissa-bashing; not a bad girl, just so damn _insipid!_ - but it will be all for a while, at least two weeks, more likely three.

Please review, you're all so encouraging! I haven't had one flame yet, but seeing as my tears of devastation would completely negate the effects of a flame, I wouldn't bother if I were you, and you know... thinking of flaming. You aren't, are you? ;;

So, read, enjoy, and inwardly digest enough to leave a pretty review!

Disclaimer (aren't these annoying?): Nope, not mine, never was, not making any money, not intending to make any money, not on prime time TV. Happy?

Dedicated to all my (my, _my_ reviewers! I have reviewers!) lovely, kind, generous, very intelligent reviewers. Don't you just _wish_ you were on that list?

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**Shoved through the Valley of Death…**

The first step to adopting Ryan was getting his permission to do it, of course; and there was a long, tense wait until they all agreed that he was lucid enough to make a rational decision about it.

Seth got into the habit of ringing home to check in with whichever parent was with Ryan, at intervals; he was getting Ryan's homework as well, and was keeping Marissa away from him as well. Seth knew, better than anyone else, how little Ryan wanted to see his "girl-friend". They'd had a long conversation about it, and Seth wasn't about to let Marissa near such a vulnerable Ryan. She expected Ryan to be strong for her all the time. She expected him to give and give and give, and not have to give anything back.

Well, god knows where she got the idea from – from being, like Seth, a spoilt Newport brat, most likely. But she wasn't as clever as Seth, and somehow, she hadn't clued into the fact that Ryan couldn't handle it right now. She hadn't realised that the person who's had the most knocked out of them by the Oliver affair was Ryan. Marissa Cooper hadn't had everyone she cared about either disgusted with her, or simply disbelieving her. Marissa Cooper had been on the same side as everybody else. She hadn't had to go out on a limb – like usual, she expected Ryan to sacrifice everything for her, without even giving him any support, just expecting him to be there if anything went wrong, and then assumed that he could support her through her selfish insecurities.

But no one was helping Ryan. Seth had been enough of a bastard to Ryan recently, and he wouldn't let anyone fuck Ryan over again. Not at the moment, at the very least.

It was weird, Ryan being ill. Ryan was both too ill and too polite to tell them that their hovering was getting annoying, but it was obvious that he was getting worn down. He was thinner than they'd ever seen him – he seemed to lose weight at an alarming rate; Kirsten had joked with him, when he was lucid, that if he could bottle his secret, he'd make a fortune among Newport women.

The doctor looked at Ryan oddly, about a week after his fever had dropped to a manageable level, and said, frowning thoughtfully.

"I can't understand why you still have no energy." He paused, and then continued, slowly, as if working it through for himself, "The flu has nearly run it's course; physically, you should have no trouble throwing off the after-illness weakness. But Kirsten says that you can't seem to keep anything down, and I'll bet you're not sleeping either, hmm?"

Kirsten fixed her foster-son with a piercing glare, upset that he hadn't told her.

"No, I'm sleeping just as I normally do." Ryan shrugged, just as confused as they were. "I don't know why I'm not well again…"

"Is this the most sick you've ever been?" Dr. Farrar asked. Ryan shook his head. "How _much_ worse have you ever been? If it's just a temperature slightly above this, or if it was a long time ago, your body might have been much more affected than we otherwise thought."

"I had microplasma-pneumonia two years ago." Ryan shrugged. "I had a temperature of nearly a hundred and five…I was much worse then."

"How much medical help did you have then, though?" The doctor asked, knowingly.

Ryan flushed, uncomfortably, and shifted almost imperceptibly away from the doctor.

"Much less than now." He muttered.

Dr. Farrar's face fell. "Oh." He said, visibly taken aback. "Well, are you under any unusual mental strain?"

"No." Ryan said, his voice final, as a vision of Scott Atwood shot through his mind, and hung there, as vivid as it had been for the past week or so. Faking disinterest, he said, hoarsely "Would that make the illness cling on?"

"It might well do." The doctor nodded. He looked at Kirsten. "There's really nothing more I can do at the moment. Call me, if he gets any worse."

"Thank you." She nodded, and left to see him out. When he was gone, she returned to her sick son, and smiled down at him. Sitting next to him on the bed, she patted a duvet covered knee, and said, gently. "What are we going to do with you, eh?"

He gave her a weak smile. "I dunno…" he shrugged. "I'm sorry to be so difficult."

"Oh honestly, Ryan, this isn't your fault. Now, is there anything you really fancy? Orange, apple, bread, plate of macaroni and a rusk?"

"Huh?"

"It's a quote from… somewhere. Really, is there anything you want?"

Ryan paused before he spoke, and looked at her, shyly. "I'd really like a shower." He said, softly. She smiled at him, and said, acquiescent

"Okay, honey. Can you manage on your own?"

"Yeah." Ryan nodded, looking at her through his eyelashes.

"Right. So am I preparing anything for you to eat, while you're showering?"

He raised an eyebrow, ironically. "Kirsten, you know, you and food? I'm not really seeing it…"

"And I thought that Seth and Sandy were lying, but you know what, Ryan? They were right. You're just not funny." Kirsten grinned back at him. Ryan shrugged.

"Guess I'll just have to keep practicing, huh?"

She shuddered, then brightened. "That means that I should have to keep practicing food preparation."

He stilled, thought for a minute, then whined. "But, Kirsten, I'm sick…"

"Now that's just unfair." Kirsten informed him. "But I give in. Is there anything I should be asking Rosa to get anything for you while you shower?"

Ryan shook his head, again. "I'm not really very hungry." It was true enough. He felt like there was a huge weight on his stomach every time he thought of eating. He couldn't seem to get his head round the fact that not all food had mayonnaise in it, and that not all food was connected to his dad. It was stupid, he knew, and maybe even dangerous, in the long run, but at least for the moment, he could deal with it. Kirsten glanced at him, worriedly, but didn't mention anything.

"OK. Look, Ryan – you do know that if there was anything wrong, you could talk to us about it? That we would always want to know about something that was bothering you? We don't want you ever to feel like you're talking to brick walls…"

"Oh, you mean like with, say, Oliver?" Ryan said, then clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that, he hadn't meant to say that…

Kirsten smiled, sadly. "Like I said, Ryan – just not funny. But yeah, like with Oliver. We screwed up big time, then, and none of us want it to happen again. We'll learn to listen to you more, if, in turn, you say more. We can't listen to nothing, Ryan. You've got to talk stuff over with us."

"I'll try." He promised, and she nodded.

"From Ryan Atwood, that's as good as 'I'll do'." She smiled again. Ryan smiled back. It was nice to be believed in.

"Thanks." He offered, bashful again.

"No problem." Kirsten patted his leg, and stood up, business like again. "Right. Go shower. No more deep conversations for the rest of the day – just rest and relaxation…"

He was already half-way to the bathroom, despite unsteady, unused legs. "That's the same thing." He pointed out.

"Ryan." She sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you? Just not funny."

"I think you have to be in the club to say that, Kirsten." He called out at her, over the sound of the shower starting up. "I think they copyrighted it."

"Cheap bastards!" she called back, as she left, and was amused to hear him cough in shock at her phrasing.

Ryan didn't seem to get better – he certainly wasn't well enough to go back to school, he seemed listless and fretful almost permanently – but he was healthy and lucid enough to deal with their conversation.

He had started sitting up with them at meals, and had begun to venture out of his bedroom more and more often, though Kirsten and Seth had both noticed, with anxiety, his trepidation when he left his stronghold. He jumped at small noises, and they were all careful to announce their presence in a room with him straightaway. The reaction he had if a person startled him was frightening in its intensity.

Sandy proposed that they put the question to him about a week after their initial conversation on it. Since then, Seth in particular had thought about it, and it was regularly talked about when Ryan wasn't there. Seth had been talked through the legal aspects of it several times, Sandy had already got copies of the paperwork – "Just in case…" – and Kirsten had brainstormed ideas about whether they should move him into one of the guestrooms, if so, which, and what sort of things he'd want in the room – should he take them up on the idea of it. Though it was never actually talked about, all of them knew that they were hanging on Ryan's decision. It might never have been thought about before, but adopting Ryan felt so natural, now that the idea _had_ been raised, it had begun to feel wrong that they hadn't already done it. As Seth put it: "It would have been so much better if we'd known about him, like, sooner, 'cos he'd be part of our family now. I wouldn't be half such a loser then!"

When Kirsten deemed him ready for it, Sandy broached the subject at dinner that night.

"Ryan – Kirsten and Seth and I… um… we've been thinking."

Ryan, curled up in a chair at the end of the table, watching them eating, nodded politely. He took a sip of water, and then, when it became obvious that Sandy wasn't about to elaborate, he said, his voice hoarse from the cough he'd picked up

"Really? What about?"

"We were wondering, er…" Kirsten started up. "Um… what you were thinking of doing after school."

Ryan immediately saw the direction the thoughts were going, and his heart sank. "What I'm going to do after I turn eighteen, you mean?"

"Well, yeah, I guess." Kirsten said, slightly taken aback.

"I, er… I dunno. I guess, I'm gonna go to UCLA." He shrugged. "Maybe… maybe I can get a scholarship, if they, er… if they think I'm good enough. If they think I'd bring prestige to their college."

"Oh, why not try for one of the really, really good ones?" Sandy asked, eagerly, intent on giving Ryan a push forward. "Harvard, or Yale, or Princeton? You'd get in, if you put the work in…"

Ryan, as always, shrank back from the push forward. "I dunno." He said, eyes on the floor, then added, softly. "How would I pay for it?"

"You wouldn't." Kirsten frowned. "We pay for our boys' education. If you get into Harvard, we'll support you all the way. Plus," she added, a twinkle in her eyes. "the Newport Group could always do with another good architect…"

"Oh, and Caleb would love it!" Sandy joked. "You know, Ryan, I genuinely thought Caleb couldn't hate anyone more than me. But then you came along, and suddenly I got replaced on the Caleb Nichol Hate List – and you're not even Jewish!"

"Sandy!" Kirsten glared at her husband.

But Ryan was staring at them all, a puzzled frown on his face. "I don't get it." He said, slowly. "Aren't you… wasn't that you trying to tell me I was on my own?"

"No!" Kirsten, Sandy and Seth all stared at him.

"No." Sandy repeated, gently, when Ryan flinched back from their combined outburst. "No, that was us trying to tell you that you weren't."

"Oh. Oops."

"Yeah." Sandy nodded, and Kirsten took over.

"Ryan, like we said, we pay for our boys' education. You're like our kid, and we don't want to lose you. In fact, what we were trying to say was – well, that we wanted to make you our kid on a more permanent basis."

"Like what?"

"Like, they want to adopt you, man!" Seth burst out, unable to keep quiet anymore. "God, listen to all of you skirt round it. C'mon mom, "Make you our kid on a more permanent basis". What would you think, if you were him? That you were gonna home-school him, or something? Yeah, Mom and Dad want to adopt you Ryan."

"It might have been skirting it, Seth, but at least it was tactful!" Kirsten snapped, irritated.

"Oh, I don't know, honey," Sandy smiled. "I think that Seth's direct approach may have saved us a few hours."

They all turned, and looked at Ryan, expectantly. Finally, he stuttered out:

"A-adopt me!" They nodded, offhandedly. He stared at them each in turn. There was a long, anxious silence. Then, finally, Ryan said, softly, "Are you insane?"

"What?"

"Why – why would you want to adopt _me_?" he asked, confused. "I just don't get it. I mean – I'm the problem child from Chino. Why would you – blacklist yourselves like that?"

"You're not a black mark against our name, Ryan." Kirsten told him, firmly. "You're one of the best things that's happened to our family, and I would really like to adopt you. I can't think of any other kid in the world – apart from Seth – that I'd rather have as my son."

"Even after Oliver?" He asked, timidly.

"_Especially_ after Oliver." Sandy said, firmly.

"And, hey! You're the best brother I've ever had, which makes it all worthwhile." Seth added, smiling benignly.

"Seth, I'm the only – sort-of – brother you've ever had."

"Mm-hmm. And therefore, by default, my favourite and best brother!" Seth grinned, triumphantly.

"So, what d'you say, kid?" Sandy asked quickly, heading that bicker off at the pass. "We need your permission before we even think about starting any paper work."

"What about Dawn?" he asked, softly. It gave Kirsten a jolt to realise that if he didn't call Dawn his mom, it meant that he didn't really have a mother at all. He certainly didn't call Kirsten his mother. "And my dad?"

"Well, they have to sign away their parental rights to us, but apart from that, nothing. If they come into contact with you ever again, they're just like ordinary people who know you."

"But they're not. They shaped my life for sixteen years!" Ryan said, confused. "I can't just pretend they're not here. They were my parents. They_ are_ my parents."

"I hate to put it this way, bro, but they're _not_ here, are they?" Seth asked, sarcastically. "They don't seem to care very much that they're your parents. In fact, they seem to care a whole lot less about it than you do."

"Seth!" Kirsten said, shocked.

"Well, c'mon mom!" Seth protested, "His dad's in prison for armed robbery, which obviously shows that he must have been a loving, gently person, and his mom _gave him away_, to complete strangers, who, for all she knew, might have been beating him! That really shows me a picture of complete familial devotion, completely. Nope, not feeling the love here, mom. They _dumped _him."

"Thanks, Seth." Ryan muttered. "Just what I needed."

Seth immediately looked stricken. "Oh, God, man, I'm so sorry."

"No." Ryan looked deflated. "You're right. They are. And, really, you guys are the best things that ever happened to me." The admission meant so much, because it wasn't like Ryan would normally say anything like that to them. "And really, I would love you to adopt me…"

"That's great!" Kirsten said, immediately, in relief.

"But my dad will never sign that form." He finished heavily.

Immediately, Sandy leant across the table, and said, reassuringly, laying a hand across Ryan's "Don't worry about it, kid. We'll deal with it."

The next day, in the office, Sandy called a favour from the DA's office, and pulled Scott Atwood's file out of the area records. He opened it to the part which would tell him which prison the man was in, and saw the fateful phrase that was going to change his whole outlook on his foster son.

"RELEASED."

He laid the file on his desk, and swore, softly "Oh, shit."

* * *

Like I said, I'll try and update quickly, but it may not be possible - please forgive me!

Oh, and, if you're feeling nice? You could review me... Go on. I'm nice, too.


	6. Fearing all kinds of Ill

I'm back! With an update, no less! Well, I did promise that I would update today, didn't I? So here it is... Oh, and to everyone who reviewed "punishment" already, you are wonderful people - thank you! I have five reviews in one day! I'm so happy - even though that may not be the hugest number every, who cares? I'm going to do a victory dance anyway - after all, if you've ever been reviewed for something (and I'm certain that all of you have) you'll know that warm, fuzzy feeling you get with reviews, like hot chocolate on a cold day... actually, hot chocolate sounds pretty good. 'Scuse me one second.

Ahhh, hot chocolate is _goooood_... mmm...

Sorry.

Here is chapter six of my epic, dedicated as always to the lovely reviewers who've already reviewed this - and also to my brother, who would be horrified to think that he had OC fanfiction dedicated to him - and that, of course, is my entire reason for dedicating it to him. I just have to tell him now...

I'm sorry about this chapter. It's not that it's not a good chapter, because it may not be Dickens, but it's as good as I could make it - it's just that it seemed a little - pointless somehow. I know where this story is going, and equally, all stories have got to have chapters like this, but this one seemed to be particularly directionless. You see, I know the plot of my story, butI don't plan the individual chapters out; they just happen. I sit down with points to include, and let the chapter have it's head, to a certain extent, I guess - I'm not making any sense here, but I'm trying to explain why this chapter may feel a bit vague, or silly. Basically, there's one sort of important conversation, and a whole load of bonding. Next chapter will be a lot more plot orientated, and will also be a lot more legaleese-ish; there is an upcoming battle between the Cohens and Scott... butanything elsewould be telling, wouldn't it? Still, I promise you, this story is not petering to an inglorious death!

Ahem. Sorry about that, too.

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine, never were mine, unlikely ever to be mine. More's the pity.

On with the story, anyway - please review me! I'm really nice... :-D

* * *

…**Fearing all kinds of Ill.**

The first time Seth said "they want to adopt you" Ryan just _knew_ that it was going to be a Very Bad Thing.

So bad, that while he desperately wanted to think about it, he shoved it to the back of his mind, and cursed Scott for seven kinds of sin, for turning something which he would have been over the moon about a couple of weeks ago into something he was scared of addressing – even mentally. It pained him to admit it, but he couldn't deal with what Scott was going to take away from him; and he had no doubt that Scott _was _going to take him away. Scott was unhinged. If he found out about the potential adoption, he'd kill the Cohens for attempting to steal Atwood property, and kill Ryan for "encouraging" it.

Ryan had to remind himself of the reasons that he wasn't telling the Cohens about it several times a day – they couldn't know. It would be dangerous for them, and Ryan couldn't put them in danger like that. He'd cut his tongue out before he did that, before he brought them any more pain than he already had; he'd already torn down their familial relations, ruined Seth's grades at school, and turned Newport's golden girl into lead.

It just wasn't worth the fall out.

But that tiny selfish part of him, the part that had kept Ryan half alive during the long years before the Cohens had arrived, also couldn't bear the looks Ryan would get, the shocked, disgusted looks – he wasn't stupid enough to believe that it was his fault, but he was practically related to misrepresentation, and being disbelieved was certainly no stranger – not even in Newport. For a second, Oliver Trask's face replaced Scott Atwood's, and sheer blind anger replaced fear… but then it was gone, and the dull, throbbing fear was back again. The authority figure would be believed over Ryan, just as they always were, for all those years, and then Ryan would be back in Chino, on the fast track to nowhere.

Ryan had heard that it was the waiting that was the hardest part about an ordeal, and he almost believed them, except it wasn't entirely that – it was his own imagination. He felt like he was going mad – every time he woke up, Scott seemed to be about three inches bigger than he had been the night before. As he waited, fear and a fever-weakened mind made Scott more intimidating, and Ryan more vulnerable. He lost his appetite entirely, and regularly threw up whatever it was that Kirsten had gotten him to eat. He couldn't sleep as well as he was used to, because nightmares would wake him… two days after the Adoption Talk, Sandy broached the subject again

"Ryan – I checked your dad's file yesterday," he couldn't meet Ryan's eyes, and Ryan didn't want to see them. "I – he's been let out."

"Oh." What could he say? 'Oh, yeah, I know, he's threatened me already'?

"Obviously, we'll find him, and ask him about it, but Ryan, honestly. If there's anything you want to tell us about your family, now's the time to do it. Don't wait. We need to know soon, so we can do something about it."

"What can you do about the past?" Ryan asked, curiously.

"Nothing." Sandy admitted, as if regretting having to admit to his own fallibility. "But hopefully, if we know, we can deal with whatever scars it's left in the present."

"There are no scars." Ryan said, firmly. "Nothing happened."

"Right." Sandy didn't look convinced. "Ryan…about the adoption." Ryan looked up at him sharply, half-hoping, half afraid he was going to call it off. He couldn't tell which he wanted to be the case, and cursed Scott again, for being the root of his ambiguity. "This has made it a bit more difficult. If your father is out of jail, you do realise that he could legally ask for custody of you… and that means that if he doesn't want to, there's no reason why he should give up his parental rights on you to us."

"But…" the bottom fell out of Ryan's world. Free falling wasn't half what it was cracked up to be, he decided, as his mind went into a shock-induced tailspin. "But he's an ex-felon!" he protested, weakly. "Surely… I mean, he went to jail in Fresno!" he latched on to this idea like it was a life-raft, remembering Scott's words from their first meeting – oh, god, _ages _ago; it couldn't only have been a week, could it? Illness distorted Ryan's sense of time, it seemed. Scott had said something about having to get permission to see him. Maybe something Scott said could finally come in useful for his son. Firsts for everything, Ryan reminded himself, dryly. "Wouldn't it be breaking his parole if he came up to Newport?"

"If he files for custody, he wouldn't have to come here." Sandy explained, gently. "You'd have to go down to him."

"What about my mom?" he asked, clutching desperately at straws.

"Your mom has no say in your upbringing anymore, Ryan. She walked out, and she's already signed her part of the agreement. If your dad was still in prison, we could have used that as leverage to claim that he was unfit for parenting when he got out. But now that he's out, we can't use that leverage anymore. It's up to his decision."

"What, so, because he's not wearing a jumpsuit, he's suddenly the Brady bunch dad?" Ryan bit out, the bitter disappointment and fear making him acerbic. "What kind of a screwed up definition is that?"

"Oh, they'd check up on him." Sandy reassured him, but it came out sounding less like a reassurance, and more like misplaced sarcasm. "Don't worry, Ryan. He can't make you sever all ties with us."

"No." Ryan shook his head at Sandy. "No, I really think that he can."

"How d'you mean?" Sandy asked, confused.

"I mean… as in, my dad, he- he likes to be in control. You'd – you, and Kirsten and Seth – would be a threat to him."

"This doesn't sound promising, if he's going to ask for custody." Sandy frowned.

That 'if' brought Ryan thudding to the ground with a jolt. Sandy had brought up the most horrifying prospect that Ryan could think of just on the off-chance!

And yet, Ryan wasn't stupid enough to think that his dad wouldn't take full advantage of this fact, if he knew about it. And Scott probably knew about it – the man had a frightening way of knowing everything that he could work to his advantage. It made Ryan's skin crawl.

Sandy watched worriedly, as Ryan paled, worryingly. "Don't worry about it, kid, it may not actually happen." He said, trying to cheer him up.

Ryan looked at him, and shook his head again, mutely. "It will." He whispered, "If my dad knows that he can do it, he will."

"Why?" He didn't know whether he wanted to hear the answer from Ryan, but he had to know.

"I'm his son." Ryan shrugged. "I'm his. Me an' Trey, we were always Scott Atwoods boys. Not Trey and Ryan. Scott Atwood's boys. We… everyone just expected that we'd say what our dad said about stuff. He needs someone who depends on him. He's that sort of guy. That sort of parent, you know?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Sandy looked grim. "Yes, I know exactly that sort of parent. Mostly, I see their kids when they're filing for abuse against them. Ryan, if there's _anything_ that Scott's ever done to you, I can press charges against him for it. Even if it doesn't get proved, it will still be there, a child abuse claim, by the child he's trying to get custody of. It'll lessen the likelihood of him getting custody by – Christ, nearly seventy five percent, maybe? And then they'll see that he's a convicted felon, and there'd be almost _no_ chance…"

Ryan stayed silent; and Kirsten chose that moment to walk in.

"Are you done talking to Ryan, honey?" She smiled at her husband. "Seth's back, and he brought Ryan's homework, and he said he'd sit in here with you, and do his while you did yours. So that you could ask him questions about stuff, he said."

"Please…" Ryan groaned, theatrically, acting out of character to end the uncomfortable conversation he'd been having with Sandy "Spare me Seth. I'm ill, please, have mercy…"

Kirsten laughed, and ruffled his hair; Sandy sighed.

"I'll go tell Seth that you're feeling OK, sweetie." Kirsten left again, and Sandy stood to leave himself.

"I know you're not comfortable talking about this, Ryan, but you've got to. I'm not going to let you go back into an unsafe environment, and we both know that that's what you had before. But you're going to have to _tell_ me about it, Ryan, _before_ your father starts anything. We've got to pre-empt him. Please, son, you've got to remember that once you're back with him, there's very little I can do for you."

He left, while Ryan still had the denial on his lips. Despite everything that the laws of nature told him about echoes in rooms with soft furnishings, Ryan could swear that he heard it bouncing off the walls, echoing, hollow and brittle, around the pool house long after Sandy had left.

"_Nothing happened…_"

* * *

Seth arrived shortly afterwards, bearing gifts. He had papers in one hand, and was carefully balancing milk and cookies on a tray with the other. 

Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. "Wouldn't it have been simpler to put the books on the tray with the food?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Please, Ryan, don't baffle me with science." Seth told him, with a pained look. "Just be glad of the refreshment, and feel free to thank me profusely for bringing you your homework."

"Yeah. Sure." Ryan nodded, "But, Seth? Milk and cookies? How very… pre-grade."

"Are you accusing me of having kindergarten taste?" Seth asked, indignantly.

"Well, from the way you dress…." Ryan answered, with a grin.

Seth smacked him with a pillow.

"Hey! No abusing the invalids!" Ryan said, through a mouthful of pillow.

"I had your best interests at heart, bro." Seth said, righteously. "The milk is for healthy bones and teeth, and cos The Kirsten told me to make sure that you had something that she was sure your stomach could manage…"

"And the cookies? What's the nutritional value of something containing ingredients so processed that they're practically plastic?"

Seth gasped. "How dare you insult the cookie! Anyway," he smiled, smugly. "Cookies contain sugars that will give your energy levels a boost…"

"Very brief sugar high, you mean." Ryan interjected, darkly.

"And, they are the comfort food of the gods." Seth finished, proud of himself. "But, you know, if you don't want yours, I'll have them."

"I'm good, thanks."

They worked for about twenty minutes in silence, before Ryan put his pen down. Taking a sip of milk, he watched his foster brother for a long moment, before starting, timorously.

"Seth? I think we need to talk about my Dad."

"Your Dad!" Seth looked at him, surprised. "Why? I mean… what? Ry, we were happily – or not so happily, actually, but that's beside the point – finishing up on our maths prep, or…" he twisted his head round to see Ryan's books "French prep, in your case, and your Dad comes up? Where the hell did that come from? Was it something your book said? Cos maybe your Dad isn't going to be the answer to that problem, maybe you should see someone about it…"

"No, Seth." Ryan frowned at him. "It's the conversation I had with _your_ dad about twenty minutes ago."

"You mean, my dad, and soon-to-be _your_ dad. Hey, do you think that, being as how you're their new son, that people'll send cards saying things like 'congratulations on your new son', or 'It's a boy!'? 'Cos that could be a laugh and a half…Hey, that rhymes!" He grinned. Ryan wasn't amused.

"Firstly? No. Secondly? He might never be my dad."

Seth's face fell faster than a lead balloon. "You said no to adoption. C'mon Ryan, your parents are shitty, they dumped you."

"Yeah. I know. But… my dad's not in jail anymore. He was released." For a few brief seconds, he considered telling him about Scott's threats, about the nearly –faded bruise on his stomach, but then he remembered the pain the he'd gone through at his father's hands, and knew, with a shocking clarity, that of all people in the Cohen household, Seth was the last person who should know. Because it had stopped being about Ryan – Ryan knew all too well that he was going down, and he couldn't do anything about it – and had become all about the Cohens, and how much protection Ryan could give them.

"Your dad's been released…" Seth paled. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah." Ryan sighed, "Sandy says that he can ask for custody of me, if he wants."

"Do you think he will?" Seth asked, suddenly serious.

"Yeah, I'm pretty certain he will. I mean, Sandy says that it's unlikely, but if he knows about it, he's gonna want me back."

"Is – is that a good thing?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know! You never talk about your dad! For all I know about him, he could have been a really great person, who held up a store at gunpoint to get money for you and your brother! I don't know shit about him."

"He's not. And he didn't." Seth gave him a confused look. "He wasn't a great person. And he didn't do it for me and Trey."

"So – why did he do it?"

"I dunno – he didn't get away with it for long enough for me to find out." Ryan shrugged. "Probably for alcohol, or something."

"You know, the tiny bit I know about you, I was either told by my dad the first day you got here, or you've told us, under huge pressure – and none of it's been good. Did _anything_ good happen in Chino?" he grinned, slightly, and Ryan was reminded of just how smart Seth really was. This was his way of lightening the mood, and finding out what Ryan's life was like. "Or was it one long tragedy?"

"Sometimes it felt like it." Ryan admitted. "Maybe not a tragedy, but certainly a mess. It just felt… itchy. Wrong. Nothing ever seemed to go right." It felt surprisingly good to talk about it, not having to go into the intricacies of Ryan's violence-dominated private life. "But it meant that things went well, they seemed just… amazing."

"Like what?" Seth wasn't going to let this drop. Not until he'd heard some good things about Chino. Ryan hadn't been lying, the good things from his early life stood out like beacons in his mind, they were what made it so much easier for Ryan to accept this strange, new, safe life. Seth would have been surprised; there were surprisingly many of these good memories. But equally, most of these good points had nothing to do with his family. Trey, occasionally. But very rarely Dawn, or Scott, or any of Dawn's boyfriends.

"Theresa and me. We went out a lot," he frowned repressively in response to Seth's suggestive eyebrow wiggle. "Not like that. Her mom was always busy, my mom was always drunk, and our brothers were involved in shady deals. It was just easier to stay out and away from them."

"Right. Yeah, sure, bro. I believe you…" He grinned, contradicting himself with his own body language.

"Whatever. We did the craziest stuff together."

"Like…?" Seth pressed.

"Oh, y'know… stupid stuff."

"Actually, no, I don't know, being the sheltered little Newport boy that I am, and having never done anything more stupid than throwing something out the window before I'd opened it…So you're going to have to enlighten me."

"Oh… well, we broke into the school one time, and played basketball at midnight."

"One of those really daring Chino adventures, huh?"

"Yeah." Ryan agreed, sarcastically. "Y'know, the whole point of what we did was that it wasn't big, or grown up. I was fed up of being grown up, and she'd never had to be. We were just kids. Silly kids. And it was _fun_."

"Hey, you don't have justify yourself to me, Ry!" Seth grinned. "According to most of the student body at Harbour, I'm still 'acting my shoe size and not my age'. I'd really like to point out one time that they're the ones being so juvenile as to still actually _use_ that insult."

"Seth, you already did."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, to one of the water-polo players. That's the week you had a black eye, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I looked dangerous with that black eye, Ryan, I had more of the ladies interested in me that week than I've had in my entire life."

"They were all asking you who the guy who'd hit you was. Then they congratulated him, bro, I don't think that that really counts."

"Don't burst my bubble."

"It's a miracle your bubble survived this long, Seth, and I think you've outgrown it; it needed to be burst."

Seth pouted, then grinned. "Hey, we really went off topic, didn't we?"

"Yeah. A little." Ryan forced a smile back. For the few brief minutes just then, he'd been able to forget what Seth and he had originally meant to talk about. But Scott just couldn't be got away from, it seemed; and Scott could legally get hold of him, now. He was so screwed.

"So, dude, what did you want to talk about? Your dad, right?"

"I've said all that I wanted to say about him." Ryan said, shortly. "I might be living with him soon."

"Dad'll fight it." Seth shrugged. "Don't worry about it, dude."

"I can't help it." Ryan muttered, and went back to his French homework. Seth watched him for a few minutes, and shrugged.

"Can you tell me what the square root of four of six is? We're doing surds…"

Sighing, Ryan leant over, and started explaining surds to his foster brother.

* * *

That night, at tea, Ryan broached the subject of going back to school. 

"I think I'm loads better." He said, winningly, carefully omitting the fact that he'd barely kept a meal down in a week. "And I'm just getting really bored here…"

"Thanks, honey." Kirsten said, sarcastically. "And I don't like the idea of you going back just yet; Dr. Farrar said that you're still dealing with the residual effects of the fever you had – it was pretty intense. I think you should probably rest a bit, before going back…"

Sandy shook his head, and swallowed his mouthful of Thai green chicken. "No, I think Ryan should go back to school, if he thinks he's up to it. If he feels sick, one of us can always come and get him, or Seth could drive him home… but he's right, he's only going to be moping around here; we've thrown you for a loop with this adoption thing, haven't we, kid?" Ryan shrugged, but smiled. "Knowing Ryan, he'll probably clear his mind – actually, no, get a better perspective on all this if he keeps his mind occupied with unrelated stuff."

"Yeah, that's Ryan." Seth nodded, not bothering to swallow his own mouthful. "He always does things backwards…"

"Backwards might be a bit harsh." Kirsten smiled. "Just… different."

"Yeah, different." Seth muttered, "_Difficult_ is more like it…"

Sandy opened his mouth, and the glint in his eye told Ryan that he was about to start the dreaded pre-Cohen Family Life Talk with him, and said, hurriedly

"This take-out is really good, Kirsten, where's it from?"

"This?" she looked puzzled. "We had it yesterday, sweetie, don't you remember? I didn't have time to ring in for anything, and Sandy was talking to you – I just warmed up yesterday's dinner." Seth gaped, horror-struck, at his food. "hey, I can manage warming pre-cooked stuff up!" she defended, indignantly, but it didn't stop her turning her attention back to Ryan. "Are you sure your temperature hasn't risen again, honey? Because you said this was nice yesterday…"

"Oh. Yeah. It's, er… it's still really nice…" he smiled, lamely, and Sandy said, amusedly

"What we just saw were the Ryan Atwood Avoidance Techniques in full flow. You're really gonna have to work on them, son."

"Thanks." Ryan gave another sickly smile.

"We need to talk about your Dad, Ryan, and how it's gonna affect you." Apparently Kirsten already knew about Scott's troubling appearance in the adoption process, because no-one at the table batted an eyelid at the subject being brought up so bluntly "He might just swing for visiting hours, which we could probably deal with, on the proviso that there's someone else there at all time – though it could be difficult to get that, because he's never had any sort of charge brought against him." Sandy said that with particular emphasis, and Ryan ducked his head, but kept silent. "Or he might go for full custody. Which we'll fight, Ryan. You're stuck with us, kid – and you could do worse." He grinned, and Ryan met his eye with a shy smile, again keeping silent.

"I…" he started to reply, but the phone rang. They all sat, for a few seconds, but Sandy eventually scraped his chair back, and answered it.

"Cohen household."

There was a pause, and Sandy's eyes went wide. He looked at Ryan. "Your dad wants to speak to you."

Ryan's own eyes widened in shock. He couldn't deal with this, he couldn't let Scott shatter this peace legally, he couldn't… if the secrecy didn't break him, the legality would. He stood up, shook his head vigorously, and ran for the loo, where he threw up what he'd managed to eat. When he'd finished retching emptily, he felt tears on his face, and was ashamed to realise that he couldn't tell whether it was from the strain of using over-worked stomach muscles yet again, or from the situation he'd just run away from.

Kirsten was stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

"That's it." She said, firmly. "No way are you going to school tomorrow."

Ryan couldn't even manage a smile. He didn't feel like he'd ever want to smile again.

* * *

And there you have it! PLEASE review. For those of you who are scouts, let this be your good deed for the day. For those of you who aren't - well, you know the Myth of Review, don't you? For every review you post, another fairy is born. Go on. Make a little fairy couple happy. Write a review. 

And to those of you who have, I figured I had better give you my thanks personally, so here it is!

**Cally**: and here is the response to your... polite request. I think I'm allergic to your sinister magic force, though, I've had this weird fuzzy feeling ever since I got your review...69

**Kimi**: Yeah, Sandy's a bit slow, though... and he doesn't know what the doctor said about mental stress making Ryan's fever worse, AND he doesn't know that Ryan's seen Scott yet, so he'll probably click in a coupla chapters, when all the bits fall into place. Soon, anyway. Thanks for your review, and you should really stick with that poetry thing you've got going there, I'm sensing enormous potential... (says she who genuinely didn't realise that click, sick and fic all rhymed. I'm ashamed of myself...).

**madamfluff**: I was so flattered by your review - I walked around with a huge grin on my face all day; someone thinks I'm a good writer! My brother (he of dedication fame) asked me what I was on. I told him I was high on life. He said I was insane. I agreed. But still - someone thinks I'm a good writer, someone thinks I'm a good writer, someone thinks I'm a good writer... thank you so much!

**SVOC Luva: **you've been with me all the way through the story, and it's always nice to have people who review every chapter. Thanks for this review, it's great to hear what you think of each chapter, and I'm glad that you didn't think it sucked! Thanks for taking the time, as always!

**Sari**: thanks for your review - short, sharp and to the point. Nice to hear from you!

**angstyaddict**: haha! I know you!(in a totally passive, non-stalker like way...)Again, you've reviewed every single chapter - and I get a thrill knowing that people follow something I wrote. Pure ego, of course... but fun all the same! It's nice to know that people like the way I write, and take the time to write a review for a story of mine. Like I already told you, though, acquiescent was born out of selective use of computer thesauras... I try to pretend that never happened... ;-)

**KirstenB**: literally _just_ read your review! Thanks for it - and thanks for reviewing 'punishment', it's great to meet you!

**OClover1**: Uh-huh, I'm evil. But here is the resolve to the cliffhanger, and though it's going to be another long wait, at least this one isn't half so bad of a hanger... Not half so far to fall... (sorry, bad joke.) Yeah, there'll be drama. And quite possibly a happy ending. But I'm an all-ends-in-tears kind of girl, so who can tell? Well, obviously, _I_ can, but... that would be telling. (Oh, god,_another_ bad joke. I'm just full of them today.)

**Hug-me**: Thanks!Happy you liked the conversation, and here's the update! Hope it wasn't too substandard.

**Capt Oats**: I'm glad that you think it was as good 'as usual' - it's nice to know that you think it's good! A couple of people have said they liked the end; it's funny, cos I thought that it wasn't great. Just goes to show that we can never critique our own work! Thanks for your input, it was wonderful to hear it!

**Skankyxxinnuendo:** Wow, that's _exactly_ the reaction I wanted! Teehee, people wait for what I write. It's almost like being JK Rowling. Except... not... Yeah. I hope that the wait didn't actually kill you. Mmmm... boarding school is OK, most of the time, but I sometimes get fanfiction cravings. Not so great. Here's my update, though - hope you enjoyed it!

**Leentje**: You're another person who's reviewed every chapter, and I really like hearing from you. Thank you for your reviews; like every good review, they give me incentive to keep going. Thanks!

**TeacherTam**: Aah... another faithful reviewer... seriously, though, your reviews are always thoughtful, and comprehensive, and it's a real pleasure to read them. I'm glad that you think that my story is worth reviewing so thoroughly, and with such thought; and, of course, I'm alwasy thrilled to find out people's reactions to what I've written. Now, if we could work out a deal with you updating _your_ story, I'd beone very happy little writer/reviewer... :-D

**kokomocalifornia:** Thanks- and yeah, I was getting a bit fed up with the Clueless!Cohen thing too. I mean, I couldn't clue them in completely, because that'd just defeat the object of the plot, but I just couldn't deal with them being so completely out of it. I'm really happy that you thought that chapter was good though - thanks for your review. As always, reviews are taken in and given a loving home.

Thanks to everyone else who reviewed, too - that was just everyone who reviewed chapter 5. There were others, but I couldn't go through all the reviews, and write responses to the other chapter reviews. In retrospect, I should have done it before, but stupidly didn't. Still, that doesn't mean your reviews weren't gratefully received. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too. Update should be in about three weeks time - sorry for the delay; real-life interference. Dammit. -

Etta


	7. Misplaced Optimism

This chapter is dedicated to **skankyxxinnuendo, **whose friends forgot her birthday; consider it a very late birthday present!

Well, wow. Would you look at that? I have a chapter - complete with rickety, home-made psychology and phony legalese, no less! Life's good...

I'm on holiday. It's official, folks, I've broken up for the holidays! Life is better! Except... life is also worse. Much, much worse. As in, studying for major, life-changing exams worse. For those of you who don't live in the UK, you most likely know what GCSE's are anyway. For those of you who don't, smile, nod, and be grateful! They are horrible, scary, and will cause hair-loss; I've pulled more hair out by the roots in the last few weeks than I have in my entire life...

Now, if I was only taking, say, English, French and History, I'd be fine. No problem. Brush up on my History facts, do a little essay practice... But OH NO. They thought it'd be a really great, inspiredidea to make us take Science and Maths, etc. Which, in case you hadn't picked up on, I'm not too fond of (insert sarcasm here). I have, in fact, six weeks until my Maths GCSE, four of which I'm actually on holiday for, and my parents have their hearts set on my going to Oxbridge for a degree course (blecgh), so I will be spending four hours out of every day revising for the dreaded GCSE's - and I only spend six hours of the day awake, when I'm on holiday. Please, would some wonderful, kind, maths student agree to impersonate me for the seventh of May? Please!

In fact, the reason that I'm saying all this, and boring you with my private life is that, actually, due to circumstances beyond my control - reallife, dammit -I'm not going to be able to update very often. I hope you don't mind, but updates may be few and far between from know until at least July. Here is this one; and I will try and get at least two more done before I go back to school, but, really, folks, I'm not promising anything. I just can't. I am SO DAMN SCARED about these exams, it's unreal. And I'm supposed to be the dorky one - y'know, the geek in the family, who passes exams?

Oh, and just for human interest - my brother has passed his driving licence. MY BROTHER CAN DRIVE - finally- AND OHMY GOD. That's just so, so wrong. Bad on so many levels, etc. David, in charge of two tonnes of speeding metal? Yeuch.

Still... here is chapter seven. Wow. I have a seven chapter story - and the end is in sight! ie maybe another seven chapters. We're half way there. Oh, c'mon, guys, look happy!

Cheerful?

Contented?

Relieved?

Slightly less depressed?

Oh, I don't know... alive?

Ok, then -angry and disconsolate looks really, um... it looks really good on you. Yeah. Er... ;-)

This story gets more and more pointless, doesn't it? I mean, I promised a full on legal battle between the Cohens and Scott sometime soon, didn't I, and what did you get? A full on legal stand off. Man, I'm good. On a serious note, I've set up the legal battle here, and it is coming! It is coming! I promise; Sandy will be so far steeped in red tape that to return were as difficult as to go on. Gotta love the misquote.

As always, love and hugs to my reviewers; you are all wonderful, kind generous and intelligent, and possibly about to win the Nobel Prize for being outstanding in your field. Please excuse my ramblings; I get carried away. And now, on to the serious, "grande personne" disclaimer-y type things.

1. LAW. I am completely, 100 percent, making up all of the legalities here. I know nothing about law. I am not a lawyer. My parents are not lawyers. I am a student with literary aspirations, and, as such, have no legal knowledge whatsoever apart from that which I have gleaned from internet sites. Much of my legal references have been made up. I know nothing about child custody. If you attempt to cite any of the legal terms, clauses or sub-clauses mentioned within this story in a court of law in any country or state, **you will lose** And that would be bad.

So don't do it.

And no. 2. THE OC. You can't sue me. It's not mine. HA.

And now for the all-important chapter! Boy, can I ramble.

_

* * *

_

**Misplaced Optimism**

"Scott said that he'd ring back." Sandy told Kirsten, as she was sat next on Ryan's bed, looking at him sleep.

"I think that he should leave Ryan alone." She replied fiercely. "It couldn't be more obvious that he wants nothing to do with his dad; I think Scott Atwood should just get used to it, and leave him alone."

"If he did that, it's highly likely that he'd never let us get adoption rights to Ryan." Sandy pointed out gently. "It would be the 'if I can't have it, no one can' approach."

"How dare he!" Kirsten said, tearing her eyes away from the sleeping boy, and glaring at her husband. "Ryan's not a possession! What's he trying to do, anyway? Why does he want Ryan so badly?"

"From a conversation Ryan and I had earlier, I think Scott was a very possessive guy." Sandy sighed. "You know, the parent who tells their kid what to wear every day, what they can do in their free time, controls every aspect of their lives…"

"And neither Ryan nor his brother dealt very well with that." Kirsten finished for him.

"Exactly." Sandy nodded. "And he's started Ryan on a very dangerous road."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I get the impression that Scott was trying to get a reaction out of his boys; you know, see what kind of people they were. Trey wasn't as strong a character as Ryan – I've always had that idea," he explained in response to her confused look, "And if you think about, it makes sense. Ryan kept quiet, knuckled down, and did his own thing quietly, so Atwood never found out. Trey couldn't deal with it – felt that he couldn't be himself and accommodate someone else, so he rebelled loudly. Ryan didn't feel the need to assert himself so obviously. Trey's insecure, you see?"

"Ri-ight…" Kirsten nodded, slowly. "Where are you going with this, Sandy?"

"Well, if Scott was trying to get his boys to be big and tough through some weird, perverse reverse psychology," Sandy said, started to get excited, as he so often did when he was really fired up about something. "But Ryan wasn't giving him the reaction he wanted, what do you think the logical step up from there would be?"

"I don't know." She told him, helplessly. "C'mon Sandy, play nicely, I'm having enough fun trying to keep up with what you're actually saying, let alone guessing what you're not!"

"OK – look, when Ryan came here, he was showing typical signs of an abused kid. Intensely private, outwardly rebellious, yet painfully tidy, and eager to please – sounds like Ryan doesn't it?" she nodded. "OK. Basically, I think that Scott decided to try and beat whatever it was into Ryan."

"Wait – so you're saying that he tried to beat machismo into his son."

"Yeah."

"That's not reverse psychology, that's just stupid." Kirsten said, confused.

"I know." Sandy nodded. "But I don't think Scott's very sane. He certainly got Dawn on alcohol, and god knows what – didn't you get the impression Dawn wanted to be a good mom? I reckon Scott just pushed her past the point where she could deal with him, and she took what she could get – and I'll bet he had it in the house."

"We already knew that alcohol's played a big part in Ryan's life – that's why he doesn't drink."

"He's a good kid." Sandy nodded, looking fondly at his sleeping foster son. "And Scott's not getting him without a fight. He's screwed him over too much already."

"I'll say."

"Yeah – after all, treating Trey like he's the good son, and beating Ryan, that's gotta be part of what made Ryan how he is now. Plus, I doubt Scott Atwood's the sort of man who values input from his kids – especially when they're cleverer than he is."

"Ryan's…"

"Way smarter than anyone in his family." Sandy nodded.

"How did he get so incredibly lucky?" Kirsten asked, fondly. "I mean – brains, good looks…"

"Luck." Sandy said, "Though if anything had changed - if he'd acted at al different to me, you know - he'd still just be my minor problem case. I'd never have thought twice about him. He'd just have been – a nothing. To me, anyway."

"Don't ever say that." Kirsten told him, looking back at Ryan. "He wasn't nothing to you then, he isn't to us now, and I won't let Scott Atwood make him nothing to us in the future." She looked back up at Sandy. "Please, Sandy. You've gotta win. He's our kid now."

* * *

Seth, meanwhile, had organised back up. 

"Summer?" he said, into the phone. "Oh, hey, Mr. Roberts." He backtracked swiftly. "Um – is Summer there? Yeah… yeah, this is Seth Cohen…"

He looked around to check that there was no one near.

"Yeah, could I speak to Summer, please?"

"Cohen?" Summer picked up one an extension. "Okay, Daddy, I got it."

Seth heard the click of a phone being snapped down, and breathed a long sigh of relief. "Thank you _so_ much, Summer." He said, gratefully. "I thought your dad was gonna, like, eat me, or call the cops, or… or just hang up."

"Cohen, just get to the point." Summer said, sounding bored.

"Yeah, sure – just… how did you know that it was me?"

"I heard Dad sound like he was trying to keep his voice down – he only does that with boys he doesn't like and business colleagues. And when he said my name, it had to be a boy he doesn't like – which meant that it was a call for me. So I picked up. See? Simple."

"Ah. Right. Well – you… sort of, _kind of_ like Ryan, don't you?"

"If this is going to go into you being jealous of your foster-brother because of any supposed crush of mine on him, I'm hanging up." She warned.

"No, no, no!" he said, hastily. "Don't hang up! I meant, in a completely non-sexual, platonic, friendship-type way."

"Good, cos if Marissa ever found out that you thought that I thought that Ryan was hot, there would be hell to pay; and I'm not the one who has balls to chop off."

Seth winced, and was intensely grateful that this wasn't a face-to-face conversation. "Right – well, all mental images aside, do you think of Ryan as your friend?"

"Yeah – but I don't think Ryan does girl-friend friends. As in, you know, girls who aren't his girlfriend friends."

"Really not making sense there, but I'm gonna stick with the first word of that." Seth nodded, blithely skipping over the other, more complicated parts. "So you don't want to see him leave Newport?"

"What? Leave Newport? Ryan? Why?"

"Too many questions, too little time." Seth said, again looking around conspiratorially. "And the phones may have been bugged…"

"Fluent though I am in Cohen-speak, I'm really not understanding one word you're saying."

"Can you come over?"

"To your house?"

"Yeah, sure, to my house." He nodded, impatiently. There was a long pause on the other end of the line, but finally, Summer said, slowly.

"Ye-eah… I can come over. But you gotta promise me that this isn't some weird scheme just to freak me out."

"Nope – this is one hundred percent serious."

"OK. Gimme ten minutes."

Nine and a half minutes later – Seth genuinely had nothing better to do than count the minutes – Summer drew up outside the Cohen house.

"Heya." She kissed him on the cheek. "How are things? You've been really weird, since Ryan got sick…"

"Yeah; things just got a whole load weirder." She followed him into the house. "Do you want a drink?"

"Er… a water would be great."

Upstairs in his room, he outlined the situation, and Summer sat in silence for a whole minute once she understood.

"So – wait. You're saying your parents want to adopt Ryan."

"Yeah."

"But Ryan's psycho dad is out of jail, and probably won't let them have the parental rights, or whatever?"

"Yeah."

"Have they asked?"

Seth paused. It was a good point. Had they actually asked?

"Hold that thought."

* * *

His parents were, as he had thought, in Ryan's room, talking quietly. His mom reached out and brushed some hair back off Ryan's forehead, and Seth remembered her doing the exact same thing for him, when he was sick. It was nice – but also a little weird – that Ryan was so much their son. After all, Seth had gained a brother after sixteen years alone, and it was a bit difficult to get used to. The odd injustices that they would dish out on their two sons would get Seth up in arms, no problem; but occasionally, the odd twinge of jealousy would set in. 

"Mom, Dad – have you actually _asked_ Mr. Atwood if he'll give up parental rights to Ryan?"

They exchanged a long, slow glance. "No, honey, we haven't." Kirsten replied, quietly. "But… we sort of figured…"

"You can't just _sort of figure_ with this, Mom, this is Ryan's whole life we're screwing around with here!"

"Seth! Don't curse!"

"OK, whatever, but could you please _ask_ him, at least?"

"What do you want me to do, ring him right now?"

Seth pretended to think about it. "Well, yeah, actually. It's a start…"

"Seth, you're being unreasonable."

"Now, see, Dad, I think I'm being practical, and it's really not my fault if unreasonable and practical overlap, is it? I mean, we've all got to do things we don't like for other people, haven't we? And, here's the thing – if _you_ don't ring Scott Atwood and ask him, _I_ will, and we all know that that would be a disaster."

"Right now?"

"Right now. C'mon, the guy isn't going to do anything rash if he's got any sense at all…."

"No, but if we ring him at nine o'clock at night, he might not be in the best of moods with us, Seth!"

"Oh. Right." Seth considered this, apparently never having though of it. "Well…"

"First thing tomorrow morning. I promise."

"Promise?"

"I double promise."

Seth pulled a face. "Double promise is for first graders, dad. I want written evidence." He flashed his father a quick, subdued grin. "You guys… you've done really great with me and Ryan, you know?" he paused again, "But – I just wanna know – how far are you gonna go for him?"

It was Kirsten who answered. "All the way, honey. As far as we can go."

"OK." He turned to leave, but turned back again almost immediately. "You've been really great, and if Ryan had never come along, I'm sure I'd still be pretty happy – but now he's here, I don't think we'd do so well without him. I mean, he made us into a family."

"I see where you're coming from." Sandy nodded. "We had to be a family for him, otherwise we were just a richer version of Chino."

"Yeah. So… I mean, he's special." Seth coughed on that. "Please don't ever tell him I said that. But he's my brother, and I… I don't want to have him _not_ being there, you know?"

"I know." Sandy nodded. "You're neglecting Summer. Go play nice."

"How did you know Summer was here?" He asked, already on his way out.

"We heard your conversation with her. No one else can get you to speak that little – your mother and I really should be taking lessons off that girl."

Now nearly at the kitchen door, Seth pulled another face. "No, 'cos Mom is scary enough without the whole Summer-element, and Dad, I really don't need the image of you as an older, much,_ much_ less hot version of Summer. Plus, that would mean you'd be taking Summer-classes, and you should have grown out of them by now."

He disappeared into the main house, leaving Sandy and Kirsten to talk about the important, adult version of this. In Seth's not-so-humble opinion, adults over-complicated stuff. They made it _way_, way too difficult. If Ryan had taught him anything, it was that the basic rules of stealth were to act normal and keep it simple.

And Seth was a Master of Stealth.

* * *

"Let me get this straight." Summer said, slowly. "You need my to help you guard Ryan." 

"Yeah."

"Why aren't you asking Marissa to help you?" she asked, off-handedly. "I mean, aren't you giving me a perfect opportunity to cheat on you?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I figure that if I want to get mad with Ryan for letting you cheat on me with him – ok, that really didn't make sense – I need him to be here. And for that, I need your help. And anyway, if you're going to cheat, you're going to cheat, it doesn't matter where you are. And if you're so unhappy that you cheat, then… well, it's up to you."

She looked him, for a long moment. "In a weird, twisted, Cohen-y type way, that was actually kind of sweet. So – why not Marissa?"

"Because Marissa is bad for Ryan." Seth said, decisively. "She takes everything out of him."

"Ryan needs to protect people. It's how he works." She objected.

"No, it's not." Seth argued. "It's just what he's always done. He latched onto her when he first came here because she needed to be protected, and he needed something he was familiar with, but she's taking too much. He can't deal with her problems all the time without ruining his own life, and you know Ryan. Everyone is more important than him; he'll quite happily let Marissa take over to the point where it ruins his life."

Summer bit her lip. "I get you." She nodded, after a pause. "Fine, I'll help, so long as I don't have to, like, do anything weird. Or wear anything weird."

Seth smiled down at her, gratefully. "You don't have to do anything weird. You just have to be here with me, in case Ryan's dad turns up. And then you have to stall him while I get Mom or Dad."

"You really think he's gonna come up here?"

"From the conversation I had with Ryan, earlier on today, I think his Dad is a sneaking bastard who'll play any situation to his advantage." Seth said, shortly, an uncharacteristically ugly look on his face. "I think he wants to get Ryan at a disadvantage so he can get him firmly under his thumb again, and he'll know soon enough that the only way he can do that is to take him when Mom and Dad are out of the house."

"Woah!" Summer looked taken aback. "What kind of guy is Ryan's dad?"

"I dunno." Seth said, slightly helplessly. "I mean, Ryan doesn't talk about his family that much. At Thanksgiving we had The Trey Incident, and since then, all has been quiet on the Atwood Front. At Christmukkah, we got a brief bit of background information: 'Christmas meant something-or-other, and me getting my ass kicked'," Summer winced, "Which was a lovely little insight, but since then, zip. I'm guessing, from the way Ryan's acting now, that his dad had a fair bit to do with that ass-kicking."

Summer nodded. "So I'm stalling him, huh?"

"Yeah. Mom's taking a couple of weeks holiday, but Dad made her promise that she'd get out and do stuff after I got home."

"Fine then. It's a date." She nodded, and stood up to go. "I'll see you after school, Cohen."

"Yeah." He nodded. "See you then."

Summer bent down and kissed him. "I'll see you before then, Seth."

"Mm-hmm." He had closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, she'd already gone. Seth flopped back onto the bed, and grinned stupidly at the ceiling.

* * *

Everything really started the next day. Kirsten was wearing her pyjamas, one of her many folders on the table, a tepid cup of coffee in one hand, and Ryan was still in bed, finally asleep. Both Sandy and Seth were at the island, respectively making a bagel and making coffee. 

Both Kirsten and Seth jumped as Sandy opened the last piece of mail but one and swore, violently.

"Oh, shit!"

Kirsten snatched it out of his hand, placed, and read it allowed for Seth's benefit.

"'Coleman and Wittering, Ltd.

"Dear Mr. Cohen, On behalf of our client, Mr. Scott Atwood, we are notifying you that Mr. Atwood, recently released from prison after being convicted of armed robbery, a charge to which he pleaded "not guilty", requests custody of his son, Ryan Atwood, a minor in the state of California. He requests this as his right as Ryan's biological father, a right to which he never gave up his entitlements; as you are only foster parents of the boy, we include all paperwork, which we request that you fill in and send back to us. On completion of this paperwork, the other necessities of this will be detailed in further correspondence. Please send your reply to the above address, yours sincerely, Coleman and Wittering." Kirsten looked up at her husband. "What now?"

"I'm going to go into work, and talk to the partners about this." Sandy said, grimly. "Hopefully, they'll give me some legal advice on this. In the meantime, I'll write back to Coleman and Wittering and tell them to shove their paperwork where the sun doesn't shine." He put a hand on Kirsten's shoulder. "Don't worry, sweetheart. The good guys always win."

"Then Ryan must be really, really bad." She said, tiredly. "Cos it always seems like the poor kid is losing out."

"Not this time." He said, firmly. "I promise."

* * *

And to my lovely reviewers (to those of you that this annoys, you know what to do. You can review (ahah! a rhyme, forsooth!), and bee here too! (aah! Another one. Oh god, I'm speaking in rhyming blank verse...)) 

**OClover1** - ah, bear in mind that while you could deal with an unhappy ending, I couldn't! I would weep large buckets of tears, and then drown myself. I have to admit though,if I thought that was where the story was headed, I'd probably do it anyway... and _then_ be Kleenex's best customer for the next few years... thanks for your review, it made me feel warm and fuzzy. Hopefully the next update will be quick, but no promises...

**Leentje** - you know, I hope that Ryan tells them everything too... I just don't see it happening. I think Ryan's gonna make them find out the hard way (dun, dun, dun!) ormaybe he wont...Sandy will see the signs though. Je te promis!

**Gertrud** - Hehe, I'm glad you got to read the entire thing;it actually makes sense, if you squint! Seriously, your comments about my writing made me blush; I really hope that this chapter didn't take that shining image of me away from you. Equally, with the characters -your review made my day. THanks!

**drkdawn** - well, here is the update! I hope you didn't expire while waiting!

**Samantha Tragedy** - ah, alas to be English while writing about an American TV show. But I resent the idea that I'm from England! Oh, no, my friend - I am from another shining part of the UK, though I won't divulge it ;-) Seriously, I know just how irritating it is to be reading something and then come across a word that just glaringly doesn't fit. It's like coming across one of the Harry Potter characters saying 'gotten'. I don't know why that particularly annoys me, but it really, really does. It's all down to not knowing where one dialect starts and the other begins, or so I firmly believe. But worry not; I understand completely that you're just trying to help, and it is a very valid criticism - when I've finished the story (which I will continue to write in "english" rather than "american" for the sake of my sanity!) I'll probably undoubtedly go into a frenzied period of re-evaluation. If you wouldn't mind picking out my english-isms and telling me them, then (so long as I'm not too lazy, and don't. in fact, revise it), they will be altered, and put in. Until that happy time, I hope you don't go insane, and do something drastic on reading it in non-American English. Like put a hand through the computer screen. Cos, I promise you, that hurts. ;-)

**cally** - oh, yes. Completely immune, though potentially allergic, as well...as for your wicked, scary, though well-thought out plan to take over the world with your evil magics, I shall thwart you by showing other people how to have an allergic reaction to them also! You may give us all headaches and runny noses, but you shall not subdue us! I promise you that! Ah...ahem. Please excuse me. I'm having chocolate withdrawal syndromes. Why, oh why did I give it up for Lent? Strike me for a fool. I hope I have come in time with this update to stop you attempting mind control or world domination. ;-) And there is a pale imitation of a smiley face designed to comfort yours. Yes, we are pathetic face-makers. We should really practice. In fact... nah. Lets not. Thank you for your review! It made me chuckle, and that was after a very, very long day at school. Actually, a very, very long three weeks at boarding school, but you get the picture. Thank you - and try not to control anyone's mind too often. I find it so tiring myself...

**angstyaddict** - mmm... hot chocolate... I am such a fool! I want - no, I need- chocolate. Oh, for the sweet, commercialised goodness of a Cadbury's cream egg, or the warm, succulent taste of hot chocolate and marshmallows...oh, I could cry. Yeah - Ryan not talking to his dad is pretty standard for him ;-), but he's going to talk to him soon. That's going to be one interesting conversation...Oh, and here, have your face back. It rocked it's way over to me, so I've sent it back, gift wrapped. I hope you like it; I made some adjustments, here and there (really, only joking. It was a very nice face, and I tried to adjust it, but couldn't find anything to do. So I put a smile on it, and sent it back home.). And yeah. Gotta love thesauras.

**SVOC Luva** - oh, yeah. Poor, poor Ryan. I'm sorry you know how hard it is to tell someone you've been abused; I remember someone I was close to having the same experience, about as well as I remember my lovely, completely amazing parents offering to take her in. That was one of the most humbling moments of my life; she was so upset, and my parents were wonderful. As it turned out, she went and lived with relatives, and she's very happy now, but it was difficult for her to talk about it for the longest time. So, if Ryan is like her, Sandy is going to have one hell of a shock.And the conversation between Scott and Ryan? Any minute now...

**kokomocalifornia** - Ryan's past really is gonna be chequered. And there's going to be one long chapter in the not too distant future detailing it pretty thoroughly. I hope you like it!

**Sportsgirl815** - Hi! It's nice to meet you. I'm really glad that you like them both; I hope this chapter hasn't disappointed you! And thank you for the encouragement, too.

**Christina** - well, that was a preamble and a half, so I hope you thought that was entertaining too! Last chapter was quite dry, wasn't it? As was this one, I'm afraid, but, finally as promised, next chapter will have a major plot developement, which will be good. It's only taken me seven chapters; no biggie. And Ryan's past is gonna bite with avengeance in the next chapter or so, so no fears for that!

**Ansy Pansy aka Panz**- two reviews in one day? I felt so loved! I'm glad you liked it - and that you could finish chapter five. TRust me, the story makes ME anxious as well, don't worry about that. Unfortunately, I can't make myself laugh with what I say, so I don't get that out of it... no fair. And boy do I want Sandy to know more. I can't wait for him to go anxious and over-protective of Ryan; it's gonna be so sweet. I, vedetta, promise that. LOL!

**skankyxxinnuendo** - yep. Totally psychic. hehe - this is your favourite fanfic ever? wow. High praise indeed! I hope that this saves another day; except I also hope that it didn't need to be saved. THAT would be much nicer. I'm sorry about your rotten Friday, too. Here's your chapter, just like I promised; hopefully, it wasn't a substandard birthday present!

Well. I'm done. Hope you enjoyed; please review.

LOL, etta.


	8. Of Protectors and Problems

Wow.

I am so impressed with myself at the moment, you have no idea! I gave myself two days off revision, and found that all I wanted to do was write, so... listen to this, how proud are you of me? I have updated no less than THREE of my stories, and writtenthree new ones. Again, being something of a fandom hopper, three of them aren't OC- but nearly, you know - three out of six isn't so bad... ;-)

Thank you to everyone who's given me such support over the whole exam thing... you all put a big smile on my face! Of course, inside I'm thinking "oh, lord, maths in three weeks, maths in three weeks, AAHHH!", but nevertheless, I felt good on the outside. And hey, who ever feels good about maths? (no offence intended, of course, to all of you maths geniuses out there (did you know that if you try to make 'genius' plural by taking the 's' of you get genii?), I envy you, and wish I were you, at the moment. Well, the world is beg enough for all of us...)

I have had a hectic time, playing bridge with my family (so depressing; they're all cleverer than me, so I sit there, shut up, and feel stupid), shopping for WAY more food than we need with my mother (and yet, we still seem to manage to eat it... hmm...) and playing with my new cousin. Who is adorable! Also, revising for GCSE's. Which is, just like all revision, thrilling (_insert sarcasm here_).

So - here is the chapter, complete with the legal speak I promised, which turned out not to be so legal after all, a tiny weeny bit more of Scott, lots of Seth and Summer, and, as a bonus character, LUKE! Hey, Luke's being made NICE in a fanfiction? sweatdrops Next chapter will be some Scott-y stuff (well, it IS supposed to be about him, and he's been appearing remarkably little recently. He was starting to grumble, and, mommy, he's _mean_...), and then the chapter after that will be the COURTCASE. It's official, folks, this fanfiction has finally got it's show on the road!

OK - and onto the important things. My, I really do ramble, don't I? And I swear I never say anything either original, or interesting. I'm surprised you all survive long enough to get to the actual chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I'm bored of creatively stating that the OC doesn't belong to me. It doesn't, by the way.

Dedicated, with platonic love and gratitude, to all my beautiful reviewers. And also my dear grandmamma, who today said "so, what exactly does the internet _do_ for you young people? I mean, surely it's not good for anything but research?". Gotta love old age.

* * *

Ryan was having a relapse. Kirsten knew, because while he was still lucid enough to speak to her, his voice was hoarse, and his eyes glazed, and he was being sick; but she also knew, with a stabbing certainty, that there was nothing she could do to help. 

She wanted nothing more than to stop him being sick; to wake him up, and promise him that everything was alright, but every time she touched him, he flinched violently, and occasionally he would murmur something as he slept that she was sure he wouldn't want her to hear. It was horrible, just listening to him.

Kirsten, one of the most powerful women in Newport, had never felt so completely and utterly helpless.

She had a pretty good idea of what had sparked the lapse, as well; Ryan was under huge mental strain at the moment, and – for some reason she couldn't quite make out – he seemed to be under more strain than she would have expected. After all, Ryan was a tough kid, and while she didn't want to take that for granted and shove things on top of him that he couldn't deal with, it did mean she would have thought he wouldn't have been _this_ distraught about the problem between his father and Sandy.

Which meant, to Kirsten, that there was something Ryan wasn't telling them. Which also meant, to Kirsten, at the moment, that it must be about Scott Atwood.

Scott Atwood, the world's biggest bastard. Or so she assumed, seeing as she had never met the man, and hoped never to in her life. She wasn't honestly sure that she could stand to meet him without doing something drastic, like scratching his eyes out.

Because for Ryan to be having this reaction, it meant that whatever Scott had done had to be really, really bad. As in, murder. Or something close to it. Something had Ryan scared, and Kirsten didn't like it. Quite apart from the fact, she – just like Seth – had firmly believed that nothing _really _scared Ryan, she didn't want any of her kids to feel scared about anything. She wanted them to feel as though the house was somewhere they couldn't be touched, and here was Ryan, indisputably the more stronger and yet more sensitive of her two children, both sick, which she wasn't qualified to do anything about, and worked up about something she didn't know about, and couldn't help with.

Yes, life really sucked for the pair of them now.

"Kirsten…" Ryan whispered to her at one point in that interminable day, "I'm sorry for all this hassle. You… you don't have to adopt me if it's too much trouble. It might…" he started coughing, and while she waited patiently for him to continue, she knew she was going to have to disagree with him. "It might be easier if you just let Scott, you know… take me home."

"You _are_ home, Ryan. And if you went back to Chino, we'd only get to see you occasionally, and we'd miss you." She said, gently, as though she were soothing a child, though she wanted to scream and shout and throw things, have a massive tantrum, and declare publicly that Ryan Atwood was _her_ son, and no jail-bait bastard was going to take him from her. Possibly a large banner over the entrance to the Newport Group. Something nice and _visible_.

She fully accepted that she was being childish, but she didn't care; she wanted to keep Ryan with them. If something about Scott was scaring Ryan, then she couldn't think of anything worse than letting Scott "take him home", as Ryan had suggested. Kirsten had seen Ryan shut himself down when he got hurt several times over the last few months that he'd been with them, and she never wanted to see him do it again. She never wanted either of her children to hurt – particularly not Ryan. He'd dealt with enough pain already.

Why couldn't his good-for-nothing father leave him alone? What could he possibly want so badly from a teenage boy?

* * *

Sandy was having little luck himself. He'd got in touch with some of his friends in the PD's office, and, though they were still thinking about it, they had all come up blank so far. Foster parents seemed to have almost no rights to their foster-children, if there was no documented reason why they'd been taken away from their parents. Even if there was, the children could be arbitrarily moved; they were wards of the state, and didn't belong to anyone except them. The only way to keep a real hold on the kids was to adopt them. 

Well, Sandy was only too happy to adopt Ryan, but that was half the problem here. If they'd had a 'documented reason' why Ryan couldn't live with Scott, they could have easily got a judge to force an adoption through. But Scott wasn't legally recognized as a bad father – just an absent one.

So far, Sandy only had one viable option – to ask Scott to pay back all the unnecessary things that they had given Ryan. For instance, there was no real reason the Ryan _had_ to go to Harbour, so they could ask Scott for the money back on his tuition fees, in the hopes that Scott would realise he couldn't possibly pay it back, and would give up. In fact, Sandy was beginning to think that that was all he _could_ do. If Scott couldn't pay the money back, he'd have to do let Ryan go – he couldn't support Ryan _and_ pay the Cohens back.

Except there were too many drawbacks to this scheme. If Ryan found out, he would have a massive self-worth dip ('I'm a burden to you', or 'You don't need to do this for me' would come up again, and Sandy had only just got Ryan to stop worrying about the money they spent on him). Equally, there were several things that Scott could do – he could just not support Ryan – just ignore him. Sandy had no problem believing that he was capable of that. Or, he could move away from the debt, and they would be unlikely to see Ryan ever again.

They had too much invested in Ryan to let that happen – too much love, too much hope, too much of their family's well-being. They couldn't let Ryan go. Not now.

Sandy discarded that idea within minutes. But Robert Sinclair, one of the people he knew from the PD's office, said, diffidently, while they were all trying to think of some way that ,

"Why are you asking this, anyway? Surely you don't get any of these bleeding heart foster case types up at your posh new office?"

The whole of the story poured out. All of his old colleagues knew about Ryan, the kid Sandy had taken home with him, and they were all well aware of what Ryan had left behind. The idea that he might have to go back there was as appealing to them as it was to Ryan and the Cohens.

They all pitched in to help, really trying now, with odds and ends of semi-legal practice

"Can you get Ryan to give a statement against his father?"

"Compare the living conditions – a Chino estate, against your lovely house in Newport? Chino Hills High against that amazing private school you send him to? I mean, if you were a judge, where would you rather a kid got to grow up? You could make that a point."

"You might be able to get the judge to ask Ryan whom he would prefer; and if Ryan wouldn't even talk to his dad on the phone, chances are he doesn't want to spend the next few years with him…"

"Make a big deal about Scott Atwood being a convicted criminal – for a violent crime. Definitely not father material."

"Point out how much calmer Ryan has been with you. He had a long record of minor offences before he got to you, didn't he? And he's had almost none since, right? That's a big thing."

By the end of the meeting, Sandy had a pretty good idea of the case wanted to make against Scott Atwood's claims on his son. He'd fight for Ryan, all of them would, him, and Kirsten and Seth. They were going to keep Ryan in their family at all costs; Ryan deserved that much. Now all Sandy had to do was find a really good family lawyer. He wanted the best – and he was going to need the best, to keep Ryan from his biological father.

* * *

Seth and Summer's plan of action came into effect the day after it had been hatched. They both made a bee-line for the pool house the moment they got home, and found Ryan and Kirsten sat on the big double bed, arguing about something. 

"Er, mom…" Seth said, grinning. "It's really not fair to take your pent-up aggression out on an invalid."

"Oh, hi, Seth." Kirsten looked up at him with a smile. "And Summer, hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Mrs. Cohen." She nodded, smiling rather awkwardly. "Um… how are you, Ryan?"

"'M good." He smiled, hoarsely. "Nice to see you."

"You really don't sound so good – do you want me to get you a drink?"

He shook his head. "It's fine. Thanks."

"Ryan and I were just talking about some literary differences we have." Kirsten explained to her son.

"Actually, mom, I think _you _were talking about some literary stuff, and Ryan was shaking his head occasionally. Cos he doesn't look too lucid to me, and he's breaking a personal record by being even more silent and taciturn than he was before. It's wonderful what illness can do for a person, isn't it?"

Kirsten frowned. "Ryan might not have been talking much, but it saves his voice – and your brother is always concise, Seth Ezekiel." Seth winced; Ryan stared at Kirsten – '_brother_'? "A lesson you should try and learn from him."

"Yes, mom." Seth nodded, hurriedly.

"Cohen!" Summer exclaimed, a huge, wicked grin stretching across her face, "Your middle name is _Ezekiel_!"

Seth flushed bright red. "And this is what you, my supposedly loving mother, has left me open to. Years of teasing about my middle name."

"She was bound to find out eventually." Kirsten shrugged, fighting back a smile herself. She turned to Ryan. "Do you want anything, honey? A drink, something to eat… You really should eat something, you haven't eaten all day…"

"'M fine, thanks, Kirsten." He repeated. "Really."

"Are you sure you'll be alright with these two?" she pressed, worriedly.

Summer smiled, reassuringly. "We'll be really good, Mrs. Cohen." She promised. "I'll even make Seth be quiet."

"If you can do that, you'll be a miracle worker." Kirsten smiled at her. "Well… OK, then. I'll see you at supper, Seth – and you, too, Ryan, if you feel up to it. Are you going to be staying for supper, Summer?"

"If that's alright?" the girl looked from Seth to his mother, with raised eyebrows.

"That's fine." Kirsten nodded, and left the three teenagers to their own devices.

* * *

"So… how you feeling?" Seth asked his brother, as soon as the door closed. 

"Tired." Ryan said, his voice still hoarse.

"Well, school today was fascinating – you know, Marissa and Summer had one of their thrilling massage and spa sessions yesterday, and I got to hear about that, in detail…"

"Hey!" Summer slapped his arm. "It was interesting, OK? We met this really creepy looking," she paused, looking for a word, and Seth supplied, helpfully,

"Individual."

She gave him a strange look, but shrugged. "Sure, whatever. This really creepy looking _individual_ who was working there – you know, as the person who hands a towel to you at the door?"

"No, Summer, strangely, Ryan and I don't know about the people who hand out towels at spas, because we've never had a spa, have we, Ryan?"

"I haven't." Ryan said, with a tired smile. "But I'm not the one who cries at sad movies." Seth flushed.

"No, no Ryan, don't you dare…"

"Hey, Summer." Ryan continued, his voice weak but mischievous none the less, "Did you know, I told Seth I'd never watched _Bambi_ before, and not only did he still have a copy of it, he cried with Bambi's mother died."

Summer looked at Seth for a moment. "I cry then." She admitted. "But I never knew any _guys_ who do… I mean, Cohen, what is up with you? You're, like, the most metrosexual guy I know. You're so in touch with your feminine side, I'm _surprised_ you haven't had been to a spa."

Seth, who was flushed a deep, violent red, said, in a last ditch attempt to get the subject away from his feminine side, "So, Summer, tell Ryan about your fascinating spa attendant."

Summer paused for a few moments. "I don't know what it was about him, but he was creepy. Really. I mean, he looked pretty normal, except for his eyes. You know, quite tall, but not very, dirty blond hair, muscled, but not so you'd automatically think he was dangerous… I dunno. He just really freaked me out, the way his eyes followed you around. Like that painting, what's it called… the Mona Lisa."

"That's famous for its smile." Seth said, sounding smug and superior.

"But it's eyes follow you around." Summer insisted. "Don't they, Ryan?"

"She's right." Ryan backed her up, with an apologetic grin at Seth. He turned his own eyes on Summer. "So what was so weird about this guy's eyes?"

"They were different colours." She said, and Ryan shot into a sitting position. Summer gave him a confused look. "Yeah, one was green, and the other was blue."

Ryan stared at her, for a minute or two, the blood draining away from his face, and making him look pale and sickly. For a few seconds, he looked painfully like a very young child, in the aftermath of a terrible nightmare. Then he twisted suddenly, and threw up over the side of the bed.

"Eww!" Summer said, but without as much force as Ryan would have expected. Still, she did work as a candy striper, so she must have been able to deal with sick people. "Cohen, go and get your mother, if you're so worried about it." Seth, apparently, wasn't dealing so well, but Ryan himself couldn't tell, as he was still retching emptily over the side of the bed.

Ryan felt the mattress shift, and Summer actually rubbed a soothing hand down his back. He hadn't known that Summer had so much to her, but he was glad that she did. Seth might a motor-mouth with a tendency to be irritating, but he was a good guy, and he really deserved someone nice.

Then she asked the question he'd been dreading. "What brought that on, Chino?"

He managed to twist his head so that he could look at her. Breathing heavily, and still able to taste the bile in his mouth, he said, his voice barely more than a whisper now,

"I don't think you should go to that spa, Summer."

She looked confused, "Why not?"

"I think that creepy attendant," he swallowed, and took a deep breath. "I think that creepy attendant is my dad."

"Oh my God…"

* * *

Kirsten and Sandy were having an earnest conversation about the new development, and Seth was trying to comfort Summer while Ryan had a shower. Rosa had kindly cleared up all the vomit, though Ryan had insisted on trying to help. She eventually shooed him off on the pretext that his breath smelt of sick, and he looked horrible. He flushed, and excused himself to have a shower.

Summer was shaking, and Seth was rubbing her shoulders, under the mistaken assumption that she was scared.

"Oh. My. God." She said, slowly. "Ryan's creep of a dad was in the spa with us. Ryan's father…"

"We don't know that he's really that bad…" Seth said, trying to be supportive. "I mean…"

"Don't you dare stick up for him!" Summer said, angrily. "He's a bastard, no matter what – he's got no right to take Ryan away from you, when your parents are doing so much for him, he's got no right to take Ryan's best chance at having a really good life away from him!"

"Whoa, Summer, I never knew you felt that strongly about this." Seth said, looking slightly confused. "I mean, yesterday, you didn't even know about it."

She flushed, and shifted uncomfortably. "I don't." She lied. At Seth's upraised eyebrow, she flushed an even darker red, and said, awkwardly, "Well – Ryan is a friend, isn't he? And, I mean," Seth was surprised to notice that Summer, ever cool and collected, was stumbling over her words. "That guy in the spa, he looked – he looked really mean, OK? He didn't look like a guy who was going to care if his son got hurt. And – I guess I'm not such an Ice Queen as everyone seems to think, cos I really don't want Ryan to get hurt."

Seth wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug "Thanks, Summer."

"What for? He's my friend too." She paused, and looked at him, seriously. "You know who would be really good to have on our little "Protect Ryan" thing?"

Seth shook his head. "No – who?"

"Luke."

"Oh, no. No way are we getting Luke in on this. He hates me, Summer, he wants me to- to… to disappear. He tolerates me because of Ryan…"

"Hey, Luke is just like Ryan, you have to get to know him. And he does like you. He was just like all the other image-conscious water polo players. He wanted to look good; but he's got to know you now."

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Summer…" Seth tried one last time.

"Maybe not. But if you're the master mind behind this, and I'm the beautiful young distraction, then we're gonna need to have someone for brute strength. Normally, I'd nominate Ryan, but that would sort of defeat the object, wouldn't it, Cohen?" Seth was staring at her, open mouthed. "Hey!" she said, looking slightly offended "Don't look so surprised, I'm not just a pretty face!"

"Apparently not. OK, I'll ring Luke."

"Good. Off you go, Cohen. I'll talk to Ryan when he comes out. You know, fit in some protector/protectee bonding time."

"Right – you do that, Summer."

"Hey, Luke?"

"Who's speaking?"

"It's Seth Cohen."

"Hey, Cohen, what's up?"

Seth paused. "It's Ryan." An expectant silence followed. "Well, you know he's been off school sick recently?" Luke made a noise of assent. "Right, well, er… this is all a bit complicated, but basically his dad wants him back…"

"He might be going back to Chino?"

"Essentially, um… yeah."

"Oh. Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Look, my parents – they want to adopt Ryan, right? But because his dad wants him back, they can't – and… and you've talked to Ryan about his dad haven't you? I mean, this is not a nice guy we're talking about here."

"No, but, Cohen, you still haven't told me what you want me to do about it."

"Er…" he paused. "You're gonna think I'm paranoid."

"Well, I already think that you're weird – what can it hurt?"

"It can't." Seth agreed. "Well, _I_ think that Ryan's dad is gonna turn nasty on Ryan pretty soon, if he doesn't get what he wants, and Summer and I are trying to protect him – y'know, by being there. But here's the thing – neither of us are particularly, um… well, you know what I'm trying to say. We're not very muscular."

"And you need someone to be muscular."

"Er… yeah."

There was a pause on the end of the phone line. "I guess I owe Ryan some, and he did have my back after the whole thing with my dad…" Luke admitted. "Plus, I bet the whole thing with Oliver has given him a rough ride, so he'd probably like the whole "show of support" thing. Sure. When d'you want me to come over?"

"Tomorrow after school?"

"I'll see you at your place."

"Yeah. And – thanks, man."

"It's OK, Cohen. Tell him I said hi, OK?"

"Sure. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Luke hung up, and Seth raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and headed back to the pool house.

"If you'd told me, this time last year, that I'd be able to have a civil phone call with Luke, I'd have laughed at you."

Summer and Ryan were sat on the bed. Ryan was shivering under a cover, but he smiled at Seth, anyway. "Why were you ringing look in the first place?" he managed to ask.

"Oh, er… homework."

Summer butted in. "Still, apart from the whole, slightly scary "the spa attendant is your dad" thing, school was OK today. How was your day?"

But Ryan never got to answer that. Kirsten and Sandy came up to the pool house door, looking slightly shell shocked.

"Ryan?" Sandy said, his voice low and comforting, but sounding worried to Ryan's trained ear. "Ryan, you've got a visitor. Are you feeling up to it?"

Ryan nodded, "Who is it?"

Kirsten moved aside to let the man behind her and Sandy into the pool house. Summer let out a little scream, and Ryan blanched again.

"Hello, Dad." He whispered.

* * *

Dun, Dun, Dunn! How wonderfully clichéd of me. Well, there were bits of the chapter that I really _was not pleased with_, but as a whole, it's not too bad. It gets me where I want to be, so I suppose it's worth being posted. I hope you enjoyed it; and thank you to all the people who reviewed the last chapter: 

**Leentje**: I hope that this lived up to what you wanted to follow! Thanks for the encouragement, and hopefully, this was soone enough. ;-)

**angstyaddict**: Thanks for the thing about Seth - one of my friends told me that I actually _was_ Seth in female form, and without a TV show, which then made me laugh when I watched the episode where they go to Grady Bridges birthdya party, cos Seth was stressing about Grady being exactly like him, but with his own TV show. I think my friend stole the line...glad you liked the chapter, though! Sorry to be dense, but... what _is_ colorguard? I swear we don't have it in England, but I've been hearing about it recently... Please explain!

**OClover1/Ally:** yeah, it was a bit sad, wasn't it? Aww well - you never know, it might get really, really sad later! Hmm - is that a hint? Or is it me trying to throw you off the scent? Ok, well, having re-read that, I sound worryingly psychotic. Please forgive me. Is there enough humour in this chapter too? Hope so - i did try, but it kept getting angsty on me. I think I have too little angst in my own life, I'm offloading onto fictional characters... I am so flattered that you think I'm an amazing writer - thanks!

**cally**: ah, tis you, the evil (but not above scale factor 2) one! Wait - you mean, throwing M+M's at old ladies _isnt'_ really evil? Rats. And I've been trying so hard. Still, good luck with your highers- and tell you what, why don't we exchange luck? You can have some of mine, and I'll have some of yours, so we'll both be lucky! And don't worry - I've bought myself a wig.

**Minno68**: Hallo! Yes, Seth may outwit Ryan's dad... but it would be so much more fun if I could get a twist into it so that he both does and doesn't - so much angst! I think I need to get a hobby... Thank you for your review, I'm glad you like the dark touch - and I thought Ryan's dad had to come into it sometime. I mean, it was just a little too impermanent, the way they wrote him off in the series.

**spingal**: Hi! Oh, basically, what that line meant (sorry, it was probably a bit ambiguous) was the Ryan was getting really paranoid about seeing Scott, after seeing him so suddenly, and thought he was going to be in the house somewhere, but he wasn't sat on the bed. Did that clear it up for you? Sorry - I hope you liked the rest of it!

**Christina: **Hallo again! Ahem.. how patronising of me. Well - here's what happened next ;-) Um...yeah, papa Atwood prob'ly wasn't going to be the world's nicest guy, but nevertheless, he was Ryan's dad, and he was going to come back; someone just had to write about it. There are loads of people who do, I know (someone wrote a really good one called "Fathers and Sons", or something like it, and I can't remember who it was... it was good, though), but this is my take. Really gald you liked it!

**SVOC Luva/Alaina**: Thanks! Yeah, why DON'T they ever write about it? I mean, it's half the reason Ryan ended up with the Cohens, you'd think they'd mention it occasionally... still, I'm glad you talked to your parents about it, and also that it wasn't your parents who did it. Sorry I assumed it was!At least my friend got a clean break, though, you know? I think that really helped her - and obviously, it really helped Ryan, but this is dragging him back to it - wonder how he'll react? Thank you so much for your review, it really made me grin. Not the sad parts, obviously, but the good bits.

**kokomocalifornia**: Thanks!

**Ansy Pansy aka Panz** : thanks for your review, it was gorgeous - and especially because of the exam tips. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside! ;-) And as for rambling - ah, who cares, it makes you feel better, or, in this case, it made ME feel better! I'm sorry about your Oxbridge application, but thanks for the offer of a friendly ear (or eye, cos it would be an email...) - I may well take you up on that...

**Rach CD McKenzie**: I swear, all the schools in Britain aim to make GCSE students go outof their minds. And mine wasn't that big to start with! ;-) The only thing I'm grateful for is that we got off doing Maths coursework... so, so happy about that. I hate maths, and I'm bad at it, so coursework would have been HELL. Rather like History was... At least we can both get stressed together. I hope this has destressed you a little - andgood luck with revision.

**Rachel Carter McKenzie**: tried not to take too long - hope this was OK as a follow on!

**Fanny**: Aww...thanks! You've made me blush...

Well - I'm done. Thanks and love to you all, Etta

xxx


	9. A Clash of Priorities

I'm back! Short chapter, I know, and written over quickly, but it's here, all the same!

Sorry it's so short - I feel I owe you an update, but I'm updating almost _everything_ at the moment, and adding some new stuff, so this like an update fest... and this one rather fell by the wayside, I'm afraid. It's does what it's supposed to, and it pulls the story on a bit, so, while it's not mastery, it's useful. Eh, well, that's all I can ask for, really.

Well, I'm half-way through my GCSE's, and everything's going very nicely. (!) So far, Latin's done, and Maths, and English Lang, and Biology, and Spanish. Thank you god - just eleven more exams! (_Insert sarcasm here_). I hate these exams. With all the revision I've done, I don't think it's actually fair to ask me to take the actual exams. I mean, honestly. Can't you just take it on trust that I'm brilliant? (LOL).

On to the chapter, now. I guess... well, I assume that you'd prefer not to be reading my little snippets of insanity, so have a nice read - and when you're done, please review!

Go on. Save an author. Write a review.

Dedicated, as always to all of my wonderful reviewers, who are lovely, kind, generous and just all-round perfect. No, really.

DISCLAIMER: I do, in fact, own the OC. I have a beautiful boxed edition of it in my room - and if you want it, you're welcome to it, but I'll be claiming on the insurance. In other words? Nope, nada, not mine. Feel free to insert any more helpful negatives you like.

* * *

"Ryan." Scott nodded at him, grinning, and moved forward, slapping him on the shoulder in a friendly way.

"Mr. Atwood," Kirsten said, tightly. "Ryan is sick. Please don't hit him like that."

He gave her a smiling, querying look. "It's not a hit." He shrugged, "Just greeting my boy… but, y'know, whatever you say goes, lady." He added, pleasantly, seeing her frown. "So, kiddo, what's up with you?"

"Nothing, dad." Ryan said, looking at the floor.

"Nothing? So why are you in bed, huh, kid?" Scott said, that same, over-friendly smile still plastered on his face. "You're not skipping school again, are you, Ryan? 'Cos I've told you not to do that…"

"Ryan isn't skipping school." Kirsten interrupted, again. "He's recovering from the flu, and a fever of a hundred and four."

"Can't the kid speak for himself?" Scott asked, and only a deaf man wouldn't have picked up on the dangerous note in his voice.

Sandy, who had spent years listening to convicts, and knew all the signs of violence from them, said, quickly and quietly, "Seth, Summer, I think you should go."

"Not if Ryan can't." Seth said, stubbornly. "Ryan has to deal with this…"

"Seth, leave it." His mother said, harshly. "You're not looking after your guest. I think Summer would like a drink of something."

"You know what, Cohen, I really am getting sort of thirsty." Summer said, tugging on Seth's arm. "Can we go to the kitchen? Cos I'd like a drink, and I think I'm getting Ryan's bug…"

Seth looked at her, his face white and set and betrayed. "Fine." He nodded. "But I… I don't…"

"This family sure has got nice manners, kid." Scott said, and only Sandy and Ryan picked up on the sarcasm, though everyone cottoned on after his next sentence. "Don't even trust me with my own boy."

"From Ryan's testament of you, I don't, no." Sandy agreed, coolly. "Seth, out. Now."

Seth left, unwillingly, and Scott looked up at Kirsten and Sandy. "can I have some down time with my kid, please?"

"Not until the judge says so." Sandy said, grimly.

"He's my son." Scott argued, and Ryan tensed under his hand, as it slid onto his shoulder again, squeezing in a manner intended to look fatherly, but which was designed to remind Ryan of just who was in charge.

"Actually, he's _my_ son, until the judge says otherwise." Sandy told him. "And you're not going anywhere near my kids on your own."

"What, don't you trust me?"

"No further than I could throw you."

"You hear that, Ryan?" Scott asked his son, theatrically. "These nice people don't trust me. Do they trust you, Ryan?"

"We trust Ryan." Kirsten said, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, but her mouth set in a tight, angry line. "We've seen proof that we can trust Ryan. There's no evidence that we can trust you. You're a criminal."

"So was Ryan, when you got him – or so my lawyers tell me." Scott pointed out, triumphantly. Ryan's head sank a little further.

"If you were any sort of loving father, you wouldn't remind your kid of that." Sandy said, coldly. "You said you wanted to talk to Ryan – say whatever it was, and then get the hell out of my house."

"I'm not speaking to him in front of you." Scott spat.

"Then save us all the time and effort, and just leave now." Sandy said.

It was a perfect stalemate. There was no way in hell that Sandy was going to back down, and Scott wasn't going to either. Ryan coughed, and said, softly,

"Y'know, Sandy, it's OK – maybe I should just speak to Dad…"

"Well, there you are." Scott said, gleefully, "I think my son wants to talk to me, and we should listen to him, shouldn't we, now? Seeing as he's the one this is all about? I mean, really, this is all about Ryan, isn't it?"

"I'd bow to Ryan's wishes in a second if I thought that he was well enough to make the decision for himself." Kirsten said, sharply. "But Ryan is sick, and unless you really want to upset his condition, Mr. Atwood, I'd ask that you have some consideration for his health, and stop this petty argument right now."

"You could stop it if you'd just let me speak to him." Scott said, all trace of joviality disappearing from his face.

"You're just drawing it out." Sandy observed, sounding casual, but watching Scott carefully. "And after all, this is 'all about Ryan', isn't it? If you're so worried about making him the top priority, maybe you should act like you really care about him, and leave him be for the moment."

Scott's jaw muscles bulged as he gritted his teeth. He gave Sandy a cold glare, breathing heavily as he clenched his fists, trying to contain his anger, and not doing a particularly good job of it. "You'll regret keeping me from my kid." He growled. "Ryan knows what's best for him, don't you, Ryan?"

Ryan nodded dumbly.

"I'm sure Ryan does." Sandy said, smoothly. "But please, Mr. Atwood, Ryan isn't your kid just yet."

"Ryan's always been my kid." Scott said, angrily. "He's never going to be yours. The judge'll tell you that! You'll pay for this, you mark my words…"

"How, exactly, are you going to make us pay?" Sandy asked, coldly. "That sounds remarkably like a threat, Mr. Atwood, and I'm sure you don't want me to have to get a non-molestation injunction, with power of arrest, against you, do you? Not just before a court case to get your _under-age_ child back? After all, if you threaten us while Ryan is still live with us, that's threatened child abuse. And then I'd say you can kiss goodbye to ever seeing Ryan under your roof again. So by all means – continue down this route, but I'm warning you. The only person who loses out that way is you."

Scott spluttered for a few moments, while Ryan looked at Sandy with wide, relieved eyes. Sandy looked at him solemnly for a few moments, until Scott spoke up again, in a sullen, simmering voice.

"OK. I'm going." Almost unnoticed, Kirsten sighed in relief. "But I'll see you in court, and then you're not seeing my kid again. D'you get me? Ryan's _my_ son. I'm not having posh pricks like you around him."

"Don't use language like that around Ryan." Was all the reply he got from Kirsten. Sandy was already by the door to escort him out.

* * *

Seth shot back out to the pool house when he saw Sandy ushering Scott through the kitchen. Throwing himself through the open doors, and nearly colliding with his mother, he said, breathlessly,

"So, what gives, dude? How was it?"

Ryan shrugged, "Alright."

"Is that 'alright', as in he didn't beat you to a pulp, or 'alright', as in he's dropping everything, and you're staying here, or just 'alright' as in nothing much happened?" he asked, quizzically, "C'mon, Ryan, give me a little something here! I dunno what to make of this at the moment!"

"I don't know, Seth!" Ryan said, looking away tiredly. "It… it was alright. Y'know, nothing great. Nothing very interesting."

"Don't _ever_ do that again, Ryan, do you hear me?" Sandy interrupted their stilted conversation, eyes flashing angrily. "Don't _ever_ undermine what I'm saying with your father again! I don't want him to get that sort of leverage over you, alright?"

Ryan's eyes were huge and shocked. "Y-yeah." He stuttered. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…"

Sandy softened. "Yeah, I know kiddo." He said, squatting in front of the boy, and picking up one of his hands, looking up at him as he squeezed it reassuringly. "But that could have been really dangerous, do you understand that?"

"Of course he understands it, Dad." Seth said, watching the two of them interact. "Ryan knows better than any of us just how dangerous his dad can be."

Sandy spared his son a tiny glance, and a nod. "Yeah. Look, Ryan, if your dad ever did _anything_ to you – anything, if he ever deliberately gave you a paper cut – you gotta tell me. You _gotta_ tell me, OK? It could make all the difference."

"Sure." Ryan nodded.

"Honey, I think Ryan should get some rest now – maybe he could come into the house with us?" Kirsten intervened, seeing the conversation getting increasingly intense, and noting Ryan's pallor. "I don't think you should be this isolated anymore, Ryan. Maybe either we move you into the house, or someone stays with you at night." On Ryan's surprised look, she shrugged, "Your dad seems pretty determined to have you back."

"Yeah." Ryan assented, too exhausted to say more. He seemed to have been reduced to monosyllables by the stress of his dad's conversation/argument with Kirsten and Sandy.

"Er… Mr. Cohen?" Summer's voice floated through the open door, getting louder as she got nearer. Her head poked round the frame. "Oh, good, that creep's gone. Sorry Ryan." She didn't sound very apologetic, and Ryan waved off her contrition with a tired hand. "Um… this just arrived."

She held out an official looking manila envelope. Sandy took it, with absent thanks, and slit it open.

Once he'd read it, he looked up with a sigh.

"The hearing is next Thursday." He said, heavily. "We've got five days to prepare for it; our lawyer's coming tomorrow to hammer out some details with us. Ryan, you're gonna have to sit in on this meeting, and if you can think of anything that might help…"

"I'll try." Ryan agreed, unwillingly.

"I think we've gone past that point." Kirsten murmured, smiling sadly at him. "I think we need to _do_, now."

* * *

Well- what d'you think? C'mon, tell me!

I can safely say that the last chapter got the most reviews in this story - but... y'know - anyone like breaking records? C'mon, lets hold out for 18 this time, folks. Actually, I might say eighteen reviews or no update - hmm... am I that cruel?

Quite probably... "mwahahahahaha!"

Moving on...

**Jokers Dream**: Thanks - I took your good luck wishes, and used them everywhere, so now they're very thin, and looking a little sorry for themselves! My computer did recover, but is now very faulty, so I'm using an old one of my dad's, which, though older, is more reliable. My dad says I must have thrown it out of a fifth storey window, or something... I'm glad you like the story, though!

**LINDSAY:** Oh, sorry I left you hanging for so long! ;-) I had a serious case of writers "aah, running out of time...", and I hope you're still alive to read this chapter, and the suspense hasn't killed you.

**chinoryan**: Wow, two reviews in one day! I'm flattered - and I'm glad you like the story!

**OClover1**: aww, thanks! And as for what happens - y'know, you could always, ahem... ummm... y'know maybe, sort of, a little, leave me a review and tell me what you think of it? (oh, I'm such a shameless review fisher. Damn, I'm going to hell for this...) Anyway, thanks for your review - it made me smile all day.

**SVOC Luva**: Oh, I made you speechless! Yay! That was a great review to get; I went round humming, and people gave me odd looks, and you know what? I DIDN'T CARE! Hah - they didn't get any nice reviews, na, na, nana, NAH! ...I'm sorry. I'm in an extremely weird mood today - but very happy, nonetheless!

**Gertrud:** Thank you so much for that review - it was so lovely to receive a wonderful, coherent review! I hope the finals are going well - are they? In any case, don't stress too much; we're both sort of in the same boat, though my exams aren't as important (well, all exams feel important when you're in the middle of them, really, but still...). Be happy! I hope this update at least put something of a smile on your face!

**hug-me**: Oh, yes. Brothers are, indeed, extremely annoying. In fact, I tried to smother mine after that. ;-) thanks for the good luck wishes - and thanks for the review, too! (both of them - your first review was lovely, and I'm glad you like the characterization, or whatever it is that literary-type people call it...)

**ryanluvr**: Nope, not kidding, and it wasn't that quick of an update, either. Oh, I'm so cruel - LOL! Hope this has helped a bit...

**drkdawn: **Thanks - I was rather proudof that cliffie, too! Hopefully, this has rounded that off for you alright.

**skyeyes**: Yes, it was a bit mean, wasn't it? Here's the more you asked for... but it may not have lived up to your expectations... Or maybe it did... maybe you should tell me... ;-) Thanks for your last review though!

**TeacherTam**: Thanks for that! it was a lovely review, and I'm glad you like this story so much!

**Leentje**: Here are all the answers - or maybe just _most_ of the answers you wanted - and an update too! Thanks for your review, as well.

**Duchess4ever**: Thanks. I tried!

**Candylovin Fehrian**: Thanks for you all your praise- it blew me away. I'm really glad that it's got elements that you like in it,and yeah - I thought that Luke just had to be in it. I mean, he's a big guy, a bit goofy, a bit of a loser, really... but pretty harmless, nonetheless. He's gonna play a big part later! Thanks, and keep reviewing! (Oh, I'm such a review fisher!)

**knadineg**: Thanks - hope you liked the fight scene, and the rest of this chapter.

**Gibasi:** ah, my one hundredth reviewer! Thanks for your review - and not just because it was my one hundredth. It was thoughtful, and extremely complimentary - thank you.

**kokomocalifornia**: Oh, Ryan will deal with it... somehow. And yea, I kinda like Scott too... in a sort of "thank you for all this Ryan angst you're causing" sort of way!

**Christina**: Your reviews always make me smile! Thanks for all the positive stuff you said, and I hope this chapter is up to scratch, despite being written so quickly.

**Rachel Carter McKenzie**: I know! I was sorta shocked too... I mean, what are they _doing_! ;-) I guess they just didn't want to be in contempt of court before they even started, by witholding Ryan, or something. Glad you like it, though.

**Ansy Pansy aka Panz**: Aww, your review was lovely. Happy it had such an effect on you!

**angstyaddict**: Nope, never seen a parade - but colourguard sounds awesome!yeah, I can sympathise with the whole awkward teacher-crush thing. At the moment, I'm harbouring one on my Business Studies teacher. Sounds bad, right? I mean, Business Studies. But he's not actually that old, and... OK, moving swiftly on... Thanks for your review!

OK, I'm done!

Lol, etta


	10. Saved, but not Safe

Oh, I couuld have done so much more than this... but I haven't. On the upside, I should be able to finish this this holiday (I just need to find my inspiration - it seems my muse has gone on holiday, but forgot to pack me. Or maybe I've gone on holiday and forgotten to pack her... and this stage, I'm so confused, I'd believe either.), because, folks GCSE'S ARE DONE! FINISHED! FAILED! Erm... well, pretty much, yeah. They were... interesting. I'm trying to forget them.

So - sorry it's so short, and DON'T BELIEVE THIS IS THE END. It's not. Oh, no. I have FAR too much angst planned - and you think a mere court case could stop an Atwood? Shame on you.

Fear not, intrepid readers; the end is in sight, but not yet reached, the plot thickens, but is not yet of the right consituency, I have bought the mansion of a love but not yet possessed it...oh, no, wait, that's Shakespeare.

Sorry - look, let's overlook that, and pretend like I'm normal, shall we? Let's, um... look, just read the damn chapter, wontcha? ;-) Oh, and always remember to feed the author, and tip the gatekeeper on the way out. (Thinks: Seeing as I'm both the author AND the gatekeeper, this has gotta be good...)

DISCLAIMER: You mean my cunning disguise DOESN'T make me look like Josh Schwartz? Oh no! (Hint: if I need a disguise, chances are, I'm not him. Or anyone else associated with the OC. So it's likely that I don't own it - wouldn't you say?)

And finally, here you are:

* * *

The lawyer who appeared the next morning was a little, quiet lady, with a severe black suit, and severe black hair.

Seth had gone to school that morning, complaining bitterly that he had to go, and Ryan was allowed to stay at home; Ryan had said, bitterly, that it Seth got to stay in the family, practically no matter what – he, Ryan, had to fight to be allowed to stay. After that, Seth shut up.

The lawyer, a Miss Maureen Stratfield ("please call me Reenie – or Miss Stratfield, just never Maureen!"), was very interested in Ryan's case, and they sat down almost immediately on her arrival, to talk about the situation.

"Now, Ryan," she eyed him over the non-existent rim of her fashionable, frameless glasses. "I know you won't feel comfortable talking about this to a stranger, but I need you to tell me – has your father ever physically attacked you in any way which might be illegal?"

Sandy stared at Ryan pleadingly, but Ryan shook his head, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "No." he muttered. "Never."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then…"

"I'm sorry, Miss Stratfield," Kirsten broke in, quietly, "But Ryan's lying. His father hit him when we saw him yesterday. I know for a fact it's left a mark – on his shoulder. I'm right, aren't I, Ryan?"

Ryan gave her a helpless glance. "It's nothing…" he whispered. "You can hardly see it at all, it doesn't hurt…"

"Minor physical abuse…" the lawyer jotted it down on her pad. "Now, Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, have you ever noticed anything strange – or maybe just out of the ordinary – about Ryan's behaviour around you?"

"He's extremely reticent." Sandy said, familiar with the terminology of what she wanted to hear. "He has difficult trusting us, and he has deep-seated self-worth issues which are particularly noticeable when it comes to family activities, and money related topics."

"Thank you, Mr. Cohen." She said, furiously writing it all down. That done, she smiled at Kirsten. "Have you anything to add, Mrs. Cohen?"

Kirsten laid a hand on Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan offered her a wavering, uncertain smile. She smiled back at him, and squeezed his shoulder.

"Ryan's very conscientious." She said, "And I know it's a positive thing, but it's about the strangest things – like, food and bills and – like Sandy said – money. It's like he's not used to have someone deal with it for him." She paused, "And school, too, tends to be an issue with Ryan. Not that he's not good – just that he doesn't have any confidence. All the teachers say he's unconfident. And I think he's had difficulty settling into Harbor, because it's very different to his old school."

"Quite. Your old school was Chino Hills, am I right, Ryan?"

"Yeah. It wasn't bad…" he added, fairly, "It's just… it was nothing like Harbor."

"There does tend to be a big difference between the state sector and the private sector in education." She smiled at him, a little sadly, "It's one of the big problems with America today." There was a pause, then she said, brightly, "Now, Ryan, health care. What did you get when you were living with your biological parents?"

* * *

That day, after school, Luke came round to visit Ryan. It was all part of the Seth/Summer/Luke society for the protection of Ryan, but Ryan didn't know that, and none of the three involved in it intended to tell him. After all, what Ryan didn't know, he couldn't object to.

"Hey, man." He held out his fist to Ryan, who knocked knuckles with him. "How are you?"

Ryan looked up from the Physics homework he was pouring over. "I'm good thanks, man. How're you?"

"Good, good. School's a bitch, though." He paused, and said, quietly, and as sensitively as he could be, "I heard about your dad, man. That's rough. I mean, y'know – if you don't want to live with him, it's tough that he's making you."

"Yeah, well…" Ryan shrugged. "He's my dad. He gets what he wants."

Luke pulled out a chair and sat down opposite his friend. "What about what you want? If he's a good parent, shouldn't he care more about you? I mean, my dad sprung a bombshell on me, and the rest of Newport, and it backfired on him pretty bad – but it was always me he was worried about. Shouldn't your dad be… more like that?"

"Who said he was a good parent?" Ryan asked, not able to make eye-contact with the other boy.

"So… all that stuff you were saying about, him never being there, and not caring what sport you played – it was all true?"

"Yeah." Finally, Ryan looked up. "Look, Luke… about my dad. I dunno if I ever told you, but – my mum's a train wreck. Honest to god, she's messed up. She drinks, she does drugs, she could never hold a job down for more than about six weeks – I remember an entire year, when me and Trey – that's my older brother, Trey – we were paying the bills with our Saturday jobs, and whatever we could scrounge off anyone. Pick pocketing, illegal shit, even." Luke stared at him, dumbfounded. "But the point is, Mom gets drunk, and starts crying. Dad gets drunk, and he starts smashing things, and he doesn't care if it's my face or a car windscreen."

"He… he beat you up?"

"No." Ryan lied, quickly, looking away. "But he would've done. I was glad when he went to jail, cos it meant Trey and I were out of danger, for the first time in our lives. Well," he amended, "Then we met mom's first boyfriend – first of many assholes she dated – and we realised that 'out of danger' was something of an overstatement. But my dad was always the worst – and now he's out. And he wants me. And… I'm kinda scared that this time, there won't be a car windscreen handy, and it really will be my face."

"Shit, Ryan. Why don't you tell someone this?"

"Cos he might not be in prison for long." Ryan whispered, looking at Luke, his face white with strain and barely-repressed terror, "And if I land him in it, and he gets out again soon, he really will kill me."

"Ryan, I'm going to go and tell Mr or Mrs. Cohen about this." Luke said, standing up, staring worriedly at his friend's pale, overwrought face. "You need to tell them this. What if you end up back with him?"

"You can't!" Ryan exclaimed, standing up, and swaying dangerously. "You can't. Please, Luke. Just… don't, please. I won't end up back with him, and, and… and if I do, I'll tell someone. I will, I promise. But please, don't tell Kirsten and Sandy anything."

Against his better judgement, Luke nodded. "Well… OK." He said, reluctantly, sitting down and trying to smile. "I, er… I was wondering if you could help me with something…"

Ryan gave him a quick, surprised look. "What?"

"My Math homework?"

* * *

When Seth and Summer came home, half an hour later, Ryan was sat next to look, pointing things out in a text book.

"Look, for differentiation, it's really simple, you've just got to… Luke, are you listening? Oh, hey guys."

"My man…" Seth said, grinning. "I love how geeky Ryan is at heart. I mean, you know, you hide behind that bad boy image of yours, Ry, but honestly, _math_? In your free time? That speaks to me of your hidden, geeky tendencies."

"Yeah, sure, Seth. Whatever." Ryan said, glowering at him, and proceeding to ignore his foster brother. "So, Summer, and new, exciting developments at the spa? Did you have a-a… a seaweed wrap, or something?"

"You see, Cohen?" Summer said, smacking Seth on the arm. "Chino, at least, is a gentleman. He cares about my life, which is _more than you do_…" she glared at him.

"See, the thing is, Ryan, Summer's glares are much more frightening than yours… OK, I'm shutting up now. But Ry, why do you always have to do this? You show me up, man, in front of my girlfriend, it's not good. You should really learn to curb your machismo, and let those among us who are less talented get a look in sometimes…"

Summer was staring at him, hands on hips, one eyebrow raised. "I thought you were shutting up, Cohen?" he nodded, mutely. "OK, then do it, don't just talk about it. Cos that defeats the object."

He nodded, again.

"So, Ryan… how's your day been?"

Ryan flirted briefly with the idea of telling the truth. _'Shit, thanks, Summer, but thank you for asking. It was rotten. I spent the morning being grilled about whether my dad abused me, and the afternoon doing the homework for the school I'm never going to go to again, because, you know, I wouldn't want to get bad grades. Even though I'll never see any of my teachers again, let alone read my own report."_

Finally, he settled on the more taciturn, but infinitely less truthful, "It was good, thanks. You?"

"Well, seeing as you asked about the spa, I'll tell you this. I went back there, with Marissa – don't worry, I didn't tell her that the attendant was your dad, she'd probably have jumped him, anyway – and there was no sign of him. Nothing. Nada. He was officially nowhere."

"Might have been his day off?" Ryan suggested, tiredly.

"Let's hope not, hey?" She shrugged. "Now, is there anything to drink in this house? Cos I'm _parched_."

* * *

That night, Ryan packed all the stuff he'd brought with him from Chino, into the same bag. When he went to his father, he knew that every thing which was to do with the Cohen's so-called 'charity' would mean another bruise – even the schoolbooks.

He spent an uneasy night, tossing and turning in the unfamiliar spare-room bed, and when he woke, he had to run to the bathroom to avoid throwing up all over the bedclothes.

The morning passed in a haze of nerves. He wished that Seth would have let him say a proper goodbye – he didn't know when he was going to see him again, after all – but when he'd told him that he'd been really glad he'd met him, Seth had brushed him off with a nervous laugh, saying, a little harshly,

"Don't be stupid, Ryan; I'll see you tonight. What're we having, Mom? We should have Ryan's favourite, don't you think?"

Sandy had watched him with sympathetic eyes from the moment he entered the kitchen. Ryan was sure he was trying to give him some silent support, but it felt more like the eyes of the sympathetic crowd on a condemned man. Kirsten had been the most constructive – she had sat him down, forced him to drink some coffee, and eat a bagel, then had told him, in her quiet, encouraging way, that he looked really smart in his suit. He had a feeling his answering smile had been a little wan, but she had smiled back anyway.

Then came the drive to the courtroom, and the interminable wait, which Ryan couldn't decide whether he wanted to go on forever, or end immediately – to delay, or to get it over with.

The wait had passed in a ghastly over-clarity, which was almost painful in it's detail; but the moment he entered the courtroom, everything passed in a blur. It seemed no time at all since he had walked in, and it had seemed almost unjust that his entire future should take such little time to decide.

And even though he had listened to every word, he couldn't even say what the verdict had been.

When Sandy hugged him, he said, dazedly. "Am I going or staying?"

Sandy grinned, "You're staying, kid. Scott's got visiting rights, but we're keeping you. It's OK, Ryan. It's all OK."

Ryan grinned, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that he could beat Scott. He never could before, and he wouldn't be able to now.

On the other hand, he could be happy. For the moment.

* * *

Thanks - I really don't have time to thank all my reviewers individually, or as well as they deserve - suffice to say that your wonderfulness and goodness and intelligence and sheer damn amazingness is a delight to mine eyes.

In other words, thanks a lot, fellas.

Well - that's it then.

Until next time, LOL - etta xxxx


	11. A Question of Time

Wow - finally, back again! I've kept you waiting too long to write a long blurb - but thanks, as always, to all my reviewers, and I hope you all enjoy this!

DISCLAIMER: I'm not American, I'm not a man, and I'm not a script writer. The chances of my owning the OC, therefore, are slim to none. (Read: none)

* * *

Sandy and Kirsten had been over the moon when they heard the results; the though that they might not have been able to keep Ryan had been a painful one. Neither of them had quite realised how much they wanted to keep him, and they hadn't known how much a part of their family he was until there was a chance he might be taken away from them. The idea had seemed wrong, just as it would have done if someone had suggested that Seth be taken away from them.

Kirsten had hugged Ryan tightly, beaming, and said, "C'mon, Ryan, let's go home."

The word 'home' brought a smile onto Ryan's face, which had been blank and faintly worried before. "I guess I can unpack again now." He murmured, and Kirsten smiled again, though it was a little sad this time.

"Yeah. Now there's no way you're leaving us."

"Yeah, you're stuck with us now, kiddo." Sandy agreed, slinging an arm around his foster son's shoulders. "All I have to do now is teach you how to properly schmear a bagel – and I mean _properly _here, Ryan, not that pale imitation of yours – and you'll be a Cohen through and through. Pretty much, anyway. Now, if you wanted to go surfing with me…"

"Oh, and guess what, Ryan?" Kirsten said, smiling, "Looks like you're mostly _our_ son, now."

Ryan grinned, not convinced that everything was as fine as they were making out – after all, his father was, well… his father, and Ryan knew for a fact that he could do a lot in the visiting hours he'd been given – but their enthusiasm and relief was infectious, and he couldn't help but feel a bit better.

"Yeah." He smiled. "I guess so."

A little worried by his lack of response, Kirsten put a hand up to his forehead, and felt the temperature. "You're temperature's down, but you've been ill for a while now, so we should get you home…"

"I'm fine." He said, honestly. "Really, I don't feel sick at all."

"All this stress probably made you feel worse while you were sick." Sandy put in. "But Kirsten's right, we should go home – we've got no reason to hang around here all day, especially now that we've got what we want. We don't want to bump into Scott again."

It was only two o'clock when they got in; Sandy and Kirsten had both taken a day off work, and they suggested going out to celebrate, but, as Ryan said, they should probably wait for Seth, if they really wanted to go out and celebrate.

Seeing as no one really trusted Kirsten near food being prepared, Sandy maintained that he could only cook Jewish dishes, and Ryan was deemed 'too sick to cook', they all ended up sitting round the table, with a loaf of bread, and a bunch of sandwich fillers in the middle. Ryan, who wasn't particularly hungry, spent the next half hour or so laughing at his foster parents squabbling over various of the fillers – it seemed that ham was the most popular, but that there wasn't quite enough of it.

They were still mock-fighting over it when the doorbell rang, and Ryan, still chuckling a little, got up to answer it. He opened the door, with a grin on his face, and said, loud with shock,

"Dad!"

"Shut up." Scott snarled at him. "Keep your voice down, you little brat…"

But it was a little too late for that, and Sandy appeared at Ryan's side, casually putting his arm round Ryan's shoulders again, in a clear message – _stay back. He's not yours_. "Mr. Atwood." He said, smiling. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you." He gritted out. "I'm just here to work out when I should collect on my visiting rights."

"Oh, of course!" Sandy said, amicably. "Ry, could you just go and get my briefcase? I need my diary, and you should probably ask your foster mother to come out here too." He smiled at Scott again. "You should come at a time that's good for me _and_ my wife."

Scott grimaced, though Sandy was pretty certain it was supposed to be a smile. "Yes, of course." He said.

Ryan had gone to fetch Sandy's briefcase, his face drained of any laughter or happiness by the simple act of seeing his own father, and Scott took advantage of his son's absence, just as Sandy had intended he should.

"I'll get him back, you know." He said, angrily. "You can't keep him. He's mine…"

"And how do you intend to get him back?" Sandy asked, coolly. "The courts told you that he's not living with you – if you try and take him illegally, we'll hunt you down, you'll go to jail, and we'll force through an adoption. Stick with what you've got, Mr. Atwood, and remember that we're not going to give him up any easier than you are."

Kirsten appeared from the kitchen, holding both her own and her husband's diary. "Ryan's in his room." She told Sandy, quietly, with a cold glance at Scott. "He wasn't feeling well. You're here to organize your visiting rights?"

"Yes."

"Right, we'll work them out quickly, then you can get the hell out of my house. Again."

* * *

By the time Seth got back home a couple of hours later, the mood had pretty much been restored. Scott had left, and Ryan was going to see him next week – or rather, he was going to come round and see Ryan next week, for an hour.

Seth burst into the kitchen, out of breath, and anxious. When he saw Ryan, he grinned, and said, in a voice which aimed for off-hand, but showed how worried he'd been,

"See, man? I told you'd be OK."

Ryan, who was leaning on the counter, smiled at Seth, who grinned even wider, and advanced on Ryan, arms held wide open. For once, Ryan didn't duck away from him, and Seth gave him a brief, brotherly hug, before letting him go, and saying, in a low voice,

"It's good to have you around, Ry."

"Good to be here." Ryan nodded, then spotted Summer and Luke hanging around in the background. Luke grinned sheepishly when he noticed that Ryan had spotted them – Summer just smiled a bit, surprisingly naturally, and walked towards him.

"We thought we ought to let Cohen have his moment before we barged in." She explained. "Good to see you, Chino."

"Yeah." Ryan nodded. "Thanks."

"Hey, man." Luke said, still grinning, and looking a little embarrassed. "See, I told you it'd all be OK, didn't I?"

"I thought you'd grown out of 'I told you so', Luke?" Summer asked, pointedly.

"Oh, no." Seth said, "Luke's still at the stage where…"

"Cohen, don't even think about finishing that thought." Luke threw casually over his shoulder, turning to Sandy and Kirsten. "Is it alright if I have a coke, please?"

"Help yourself." Kirsten smiled, moving closer to Sandy, and leaning her head on his shoulder, and watching as their children (plus friends) moved into the lounge. She looked up at her husband when the kitchen was empty, and said, softly, "Do you think that we can go back to normal now?"

Sandy slid an arm round her waist. "Not a hope in hell." He answered, and kissed her. "But then," he added, when it ended. "I don't think that we were particularly normal to start with. Why start now?"

* * *

Ryan went back to school the next day, on his own insistence that 'he was completely fine'. Seth started to mention that morning that he was looking 'a bit rough, man', but Ryan shut him up with one of his trademark warning glares.

First class – history – was with Luke, who hung around Ryan like an overlarge, over-talkative shadow. Having got to know Luke, and knowing that he was a good guy who was just a little overprotective of his friends, Ryan accepted it with a grin of something which could have been appreciation, but equally could have been resignation. As Luke reflected, with Ryan, it was sometimes hard to tell.

One thing Luke was excellent at was keeping Marissa away from his friend – Marissa was obviously desperate to talk to Ryan, but wasn't going to risk it with Luke there. Speaking to her boyfriend _and_ ex-boyfriend would have been too weird, even for her.

If Luke wasn't in his class – and he wasn't for things like Physics and Calculus and he didn't take some of Ryan's more 'arty' options – Seth or, rarely, Summer was, but whoever it was stuck to him like glue. Even Summer… Ryan was starting to think that maybe there was something going on, but he remembered how kind they'd all been to him when he was sick, and kept quiet. Maybe, he thought, it was just a throw-over from that.

Things went pretty well until just after lunch. Ryan hadn't been feeling all that great when he got up that morning, but it was a definite improvement on how he had been feeling before, and, figuring that he'd missed enough school, he'd decided to risk it. As it turned out, that was a big mistake.

The first lesson after lunch was French. Everyone had prepared an oral presentation to give on their 'favourite activity' – everyone except Ryan. Ryan's French was pretty good, but he wasn't sure whether he could wing the entire thing, so he'd tried to explain to his French teacher before class, asking for an extension.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Atwood." His teacher said, looking at him vaguely disapprovingly. "But I've given out too many extensions already…"

"I was sick!" Ryan tried, but Mr. Shaw was having none of it.

"I'm sorry. But you're in school now, and you're expected to take part in the activities the school requires of you."

Ryan sighed, and sat down, wishing that his stomach would settle, and wishing that the reason it was so upset was simply nerves.

Sometimes, having a surname which began with 'a' was a real pain, he thought, as his name was read out first to give his presentation. Unwillingly, he stood up, and said, slowly,

"Le chose que j'aime faire, surtout, est jouer de soccer… um…" Ryan paused, and thought, quickly, "Um… j'ai joué cet sport depuis longtemps, er… depuis l'age de six ans, je croit…" he could feel that he was going to be sick, and took several deep breaths. "C'était un sport qui, er… mon frère et mon père ont aimé, et c'était quelque chose que nous pourrions faire ensemble…" he swallowed down some bile, resisting the urge to cough. He took a ragged breath and continued. "Pour moi, a commence, c'était seulement quelque chose amusant, que j'ai pu faire pour me detendre, mais…" he couldn't help it, and started coughing.

Ryan knew that coughing would make him lose control of himself – but just at the moment he thought he was about to be sick, he stopped coughing, and took a deep, gasping breath. The bile in his mouth stuck fast in his windpipe, and he couldn't breath. Gasping futilely, he glanced at his teacher, who was frozen in shock, and ran for it.

He ran out of the school buildings, and threw up violently in a nearby flower bed. He sat there, panting and retching weakly, glad that he could breath again, but hating the taste in his mouth, and the feeling of weakness that throwing up always brought.

"Hey, man, you looked pretty rough in there…" It was Seth, and he sounded remarkably serious. "Ryan, you should really go home…"

"I can't." Ryan said, hating the sound of his own voice, "There's no one there, and I'm not that sick, anyway."

"Yeah, because obviously people who throw up in the middle of their own French presentations are completely, one hundred percent fine, right?" Seth said, sarcastically. Ryan shrugged. "Look, Ry, I'll come home with you today, and hey, Mom and Dad are going through the honeymoon period with you right now, so they're not gonna mind staying home with you till you get better. They're not gonna be mad just cos you're sick."

"OK…" Ryan said, too tired to do anything but agree with him. "But Seth – if I'm not better by next week, you can't tell my dad, alright?"

"Ryan, I wouldn't give your dad the time of day, if I had a choice. I mean, except I probably would, because your dad weighs more than two of me, and if he asked me for the time, I'd tell him just so he'd stop talking to me, but no, what I mean is, I wouldn't _dream_ of telling your dad anything. Right? Let's see if we can get a lift out of this dump, OK?"

* * *

There we are! You like?

Oh, and a quick note about 'Punishment Unfitting to the Crime' - that is going to be updated soon, I just need to finish the chapter, and it will be up RIGHT away. Promise. Thanks!

**Fanny**: Thank you! And you know what - I wanna know what's gonna happen too. I feel like I should probably know, but actually? I haven't got a clue.

**Ansy Pansyaka Panz**: You are such a faithful reviewer! Thanks again for all of your reviews, and I'm glad you feel I got the tension across!

**Leentje**: Thanks! Another very faithful reviewer... well, this wasn't exactly a QUICK post, but it wasn't hugely slow... was it? Oh, who am I kidding, of course it was slow... oh well. It's here, anyway!

**Duchess4ever**: I didn't exactly update soone, like I said, but it was as quick as I could! Thanks for your review, it was a nice one, I'm glad you liek the story.

**mandelyn78753**: wow, your review was lovely! Really nice and encouraging, thank you! I'm glad you like the author's notes, I always feel like I ramble too much... it's nice to know not everyone thinks that they're pointless!

**hug-me**: yeah, Ryan's a bit of an idiot over the abuse thing, but then, it's gotta be hard for him! I was gonna make him commit perjury, and lie in court about it, but then I wanted to get the update out, and I just had to rush the chapter a bit... I'm glad you liked it anyway.

**SVOC Luva: **Oh, there are so many options for this story right now, I'm completely lost - I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I thought, well, Luke gets so little look in in Fanfiction, he hsould have a little something more. Thanks for the review!

**Abby Someone**: thanks! Glad you like it!

**bluetoffee**: I know... I just couldn't take him away from them... he's too happy there! Thanks for reviewing!

**drkdawn**: Oh, I'm not ending this story yet, I enjoy getting reviews WAY too much! ;-) thank you for your review, I'm really glad you liked it.

**Rachel Carter McKenzie**: I know, I'm slow at updating, lol! Still, I'm glad you like it, and want to know what's going on - next chapter will be Scott's visiting, and Ryan furiously trying to pretend he's not sick - could be interesting, no? I'll try and hurry!

**Christina**: Ah, another of your lovely reviews. They're always co comprehensive, and so flattering, it's wonderful to get them. I know - I'm so fond of angst, I thought, hmm, what's the worst thing I could do to Ryan, and went off and wrote it. (I admit now, I wasn't expecting ANYONE to be interested...) And I'm so glad that you think that I got bits of it riht - the opinions of people who review so regularly (you anda couple of other people) are always really important. Thanks again!

**katwoman76**: Oh hell yeah, with visiting rights, Scott can do near enough ANYTHING to Ryan... lol! Thanks for your review!

OK, that's it for Chapter ten reviews. To everyone who reviewed chapters 8 and 9, but didn't get an individual thank you, please don't think that your reviews mena nothing to me - they really do. a HUGE thank you to all of you - and I hope everyone liked this chapter!

LOL, etta xxxx


	12. An Excercise in Sheer Nerve

Wow! Between going on holiday, panic about phonelines, (_changing my username_) and a sick pet, it's a miracle I managed to get this out at all. I mean, honestly!

Sorry about the changed username, if it's caused any confusion, btw. I, er... I know they say not to change for anythings except drastic reasons, and I didn't. I just, didn't really like the name any more. This one is much prettier, don't you think? glares at anyone who even thinks about disagreeing

On a more - or less - cheerful note, my GCSE results are coming out in sixteen days, people! Sixteen days! Terrifying, isn't it?

For once in my life, I have nothing else to say, so I'm going to let you all read the story now. I really feel like this is back on track now, though I'm sorry to all the people who probably feel that this story is a disjointed, pathetic sort of thing, because I have real difficulty seeing it as a flowing story line myself, so it wouldn't be wholly surprising to me to find out that other people agree with me. Wait - I said I had nothing else to say, didn't I? Oops...

DISCLAIMER: The voices in my head said that the OC was mine - but they weren't speaking in an American accent. So they probably weren't Josh Schwartz, and/or a Warner Bros affiliate. Dammit!

And on we go...

**

* * *

An Exercise in Sheer Nerve: **

Neither of their parents were home when Seth and Ryan got back, but then, they hadn't exactly expected them to be. Seth, showing surprising patience for someone who was generally so hyperactive, left Ryan in privacy while he changed and got into the still-unfamiliar spare room bed, then brought him some Pepto-Bismol (A/N I have no idea whether this exists in America – in England, it's a bright pink, foul-tasting goop designed to soothe the stomach. It works, because your stomach is so horrified at being expected to digest something THAT FOUL, it gives up the ghost for at least three hours. Sorry – and on with the story.) which Ryan made a face over but swallowed, followed by some aspirin.

"I never knew you were this good at nursing people, Seth." He croaked, trying to smile.

"Well, what do you think I ended up being whenever the kids at nursery school wanted to play doctors and nurses?" his foster brother asked, trying equally hard to joke. "Here's a hint – no one trusted me to be the doctor."

"I'm not surprised." Ryan coughed. "But you're a very good nurse. Even if I hate you for giving me Pepto-Bismol."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Look, I'm gonna ring mom, and…"

"Don't!" Ryan said, quickly. "I'm fine, Seth. I just… you should let her be. She'll be home soon."

"Ryan, this is The Kirsten we're talking about here. Both of her kids healthy and on a normal school day? She won't be home for _hours_ yet. I know that they're still delighting in continuing to have you around, but Mom and Dad verge on the workaholic. They're rather like you in that respect, Ryan, ol' buddy, ol' pal. Plus, she'd be furious if she found out that you were sick, and I didn't tell her."

Ryan shrugged. "I don't really need them around. I mean, I've got you, haven't I?"

"Oh, sure. But mom and dad have the contacts, they speak the lingo…" he paused, then shrugged a little apologetically as Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. "Look, Ry, they're the ones who can call the doctor out and stuff. They know what they're doing."

"You're gonna be a parent too someday, Seth…"

"You _so_ did not just say that, buddy. In any case, I'll get my wife to deal with the icky sick children."

"You've gotta learn someday!" Ryan coughed again. "and you might as well learn on me. I mean, it doesn't matter if you make mistakes with me."

Seth froze, staring at him for a few seconds. "Oh, sure, it doesn't matter a bit whether I make mistakes on you, Ryan." He said, very slowly. "Except if you die, I'd be… Mom and Dad would kill me, you get me? It matters, Ryan. It does. So just let me ring someone who knows what they're doing, and can treat your health with the proper respect."

"Sure." Ryan nodded. "Now, can you bring me my bag? I think I might need to write up my French presentation, and I've got a whole load of homework to do…"

"Only you, Ryan Atwood, geek-extraordinaire." Seth grinned, but left, and returned holding Ryan's book-bag and a large plastic bowl. "Just in case you feel a bit… peaky." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Ryan fake-retched. Seth stuck the bowl in front of his and Ryan glared at him, pushing it away. "Just in case, man. You should really try and get some sleep, you know. Rather than doing homework."

"I need to catch up – I've missed, like, three weeks of school."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll leave you alone then – except I should probably take your temperature first."

Ryan sighed, but submitted to the thermometer obediently enough. Seth frowned at it, then tried to smile at Ryan, and left him alone.

* * *

Ryan woke about an hour later, his half-written French presentation crumpled under him. He sat up, feeling the woozy, swimming light-headedness he always felt after he'd been asleep when he was sick. 

He wavered over to the bathroom on heavy, unsteady legs, then very carefully made his way downstairs. He could hear voices coming from the hallway, and paused to listen to them without even really thinking about it:

"I heard about Ryan running out of class," That was Luke's voice, Ryan registered dimly. "Is he OK?"

"His temperature's right up again." And that was Seth, sounding resigned. Ryan recognised all of Seth's voices now. "And he was sick, he's pale and sweaty – he's just _sick_. I don't know what it is, I thought he'd got over the flu he had, or whatever it was."

"Cheer up Cohen," Luke again. "Ryan's a tough guy. He'll get over this."

"He wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for his bastard of a dad," Seth said, with surprising viciousness as Ryan made his way downstairs. "He's… Oh, hey, Ryan. How're you feeling?"

"Better." He lied, hoarsely. "Hey, Luke."

"Hey, Chino." Luke nodded, looking at him with slightly shocked eyes. "How you doing?"

"OK." He lied again. "How bout you?"

"I'm OK." He echoed Ryan, apparently unable to take his eyes off him in his shock. "Dude – you look _terrible_."

Ryan gave a low, hacking laugh. "Thanks, man." He coughed. "I love the flattery you've got going on there."

Luke didn't reply, apparently completely speechless. Seth, with far more tact than Ryan had expected (Seth had apparently picked today to reveal his Hidden Depths), steered the conversation away from Ryan, and moved them into the sitting room, where he and Luke played video games, while Ryan lay on the sofa, and watched them, dozing every now and then, when the noise from the games wasn't keeping him awake.

* * *

He was asleep when Kirsten and Sandy got back, and he only woke up when the video game turned off. He opened his eyes, and jumped on seeing Kirsten's face so close to his own. 

She smiled, and put out a hand, smoothing his hair back from his forehead in a gesture which was becoming increasingly familiar. "Oh sweetie," she said, a little sadly, "Life doesn't cut any slack for you, does it?"

He shrugged, and tried to sit up.

"We're going to have something to eat – Sandy's put some rice on for you. It'll soothe your stomach; Seth says you've been being sick?" he nodded. "He told me he gave you Pepto-Bismol at about three, and it's seven thirty now, so you can probably have some more, and some more aspirin, too – and if you're still feeling sick tomorrow, I'll call Dr. Farrar out again."

"You don't have to worry…"

"We're you're legal legal guardians now, Ryan," she grinned, looking suddenly and strangely like Seth to Ryan's fevered eyes. "Of course we have to worry. And even if we didn't have to, we would anyway. So no more talking about no doctors and no sick leave, OK?"

Dr. Farrar, who was called out the next morning, diagnosed Ryan with acute influenza, and stressed the importance of complete rest.

"He's been under a lot of strain – which must be why he didn't recover as I thought he would. He needs to relax, get his bearings, and recover from everything. So no undue excitement, is that clear, Mrs. Cohen?" he finished off with a twinkle.

"Here?" she feigned disinterest. "Please, Doctor, nothing interesting ever happens in Newport."

* * *

Ryan spent the next week wavering between exasperated and exhausted. His fever seemed to get no better, but sometimes it was more manageable, he could deal with it better – and those were the times he invariably spent feeling exasperated. To be perfectly honest (which Ryan took good care not to be), feeling _anything _was so draining, he wasn't entirely sure it was worth the effort. On the other hand, the things Ryan _was_ entirely sure of were few and far between, so he supposed that he should really be surprised that his own state of mind was far from stable too. 

For a start, he wasn't sure how to act around Kirsten and Sandy now that they were his 'legal legal guardians', as Kirsten put it. They acted much the same towards him, with a little extra that hadn't been there before, but Ryan was dithering as to how to reciprocate. How could he get close to them without Scott taking some awful revenge on either them, or Ryan? Ryan knew that he, personally, could deal with – or he hoped he could – but he had neither the right nor the inclination to test the Cohens' ability to 'deal with it'. Worse, how could he get close to them, with all of his secrets spilling out? And if he told them his secrets, who was to say the relationship wouldn't change, forcing Ryan to adapt yet again? If there was one thing Ryan wasn't good at dealing with it was adapting to people changing their relationship with him. Anger and violence and joy and pride were, he had learned early on, transient things which didn't change the over-all relationship – but the Cohens had an uncomfortable habit of changing the whole relationship to adapt to a circumstance (hence now), and it left Ryan off-balance.

Plus, the secrets… he couldn't tell them. He'd never told anyone all of them, not even Trey, and Trey had been… Trey had been everything to Ryan when they were kids. Everything. Some secrets were meant to be kept, right?

In any case, Ryan thought, letting his eyelids droop as he really couldn't summon the energy to keep them open any longer, it was a problem he'd face later. He was too tired to do it now…

* * *

Seth poked his head around the door a couple of minutes after Ryan had drifted into his doze. 

It was an uncomfortable feeling, Seth often reflected, a little absently, watching Ryan sleep. Ryan was one of the people who were not meant to look vulnerable, and sleep did that. Ryan looked somehow – younger when he was asleep, younger and less tough. He looked like he could be hurt, and it called up the same fierce protectiveness which Seth had only recently discovered. If there was one thing Seth would go to any lengths to avoid, it was his family being hurt. And Ryan was a member of his family, and the one most likely to be hurt, to boot.

He hated Ryan being sick, almost as much as Ryan did – Ryan hated feeling weak, and Seth hated not being able to do anything to help him. He hated that Ryan's father was around now, of all times, and he hated that Ryan's father was such a bastard. At times, it was so easy to forget that Ryan wasn't his real brother, that he hadn't always been around, and that they weren't non-identical twins. In his quiet, unassuming way, Ryan had found a place in their family, and settled in there, and though Seth had been overwhelmingly glad that they had won Ryan for good, he didn't like that they had had to fight in the first place. Ryan was theirs, his brother and his parents' son, and it wasn't right that other people didn't recognise that fact.

He was worried (just as he knew his parents were) by the Scott Atwood's visit, this Saturday. He had promised that he wouldn't tell Scott anything about Ryan's illness, but how was Ryan going to deal with him? He'd already proved, beyond doubt, that he didn't deal well around his dad, he gave him too much and was too quiet, and too _submissive_, and that, coupled with him already being sick, combined to make Seth extremely worried that his brother would make a dangerous mistake around Scott, and they would all be in the middle of yet another drama, with higher stakes than they'd ever played for before.

"Seth?" a sleepy, raw-voiced murmur came from the bed. "Did you want something?"

Seth looked at Ryan, who was peering at him through dry, over-bright eyes. His skin was flushed and sweaty, and his hair was tangled and greasy. He looked awful, but Seth felt a surge of affection for the other boy, as he grinned, and said,

"No, nothing, man. Just checking you're alright. Anything I can get you?"

"No, I'm OK." He starting coughing, putting the lie to his words. "Well…" he amended, hoarsely. "I don't need anything."

"OK. I'll see you later – I'll bring up your thrilling meal, unless you feel up to coming down tonight?" he paused. "That was a really weird question, wasn't it? You feel up to coming down…" Ryan raised an eyebrow at him, and coughed some more. "OK, well I'll leave you to sleep."

"Thanks, Seth." He heard, as he shut the door, and smiled. _'It doesn't matter if you make mistakes with me' my arse.

* * *

_

Ryan did come down for dinner that night, thought he just sat at the table, feeling ill, and occasionally taking small mouthfuls of the rice and boiled chicken at Kirsten's urging. Ryan was getting heartily sick of the bland foods which Kirsten said were all his stomach could manage, but since he couldn't yet finish a plateful of them, he thought it was probably unlikely that he was going to get much else in the near future.

"So, Ryan." Sandy said, gravely. "It's Thursday today, and you've got two days to get better before your dad's visit on Saturday. If you're not feeling better by then, I'm seriously thinking about cancelling the visit."

Ryan's face went white, despite the flush of fever. "No, that's not a good idea." He said, quickly. "I'd… I'd like to see him."

"Really?" Sandy looked highly sceptical. "Why?"

"Well, he's my dad." Ryan said, uncomfortably, lying desperately, "And I haven't seen him for a while. I mean, I don't want to live with him, but it'd be nice to just… talk to him again."

"Dude, you threw up when you heard he was in Newport." Seth interrupted, "You could barely string a sentence together in front of him, when he was here last time, and now you want to have a nice cosy chat with him? Um, no. Not really believing you here."

"Well, it's true!" Ryan defended himself. "I, er… I can't be expected to cut him out my life altogether, can I?"

"You were keen enough when you thought it was possible that mom and dad could adopt you." Seth pointed out.

"Well… it's different now. He's back, now, and he seems to want to have something to do with me."

"Yeah, nothing good though." Seth predicted, darkly, and Ryan flushed again. "He really doesn't look to me like Mr. Care-Bear. More like Mr. I'm-Going-to-Behead-Your-Teddy-Bear. If it was me, I'd be jumping at a chance to get out of it."

"You're not me, though." Ryan said, and pushed his plate away. He stood up, and swayed. "Do you mind if I go back to bed now?" he asked Kirsten, and she smiled, wanly.

"Sure, honey." She nodded. "I'll come up soon and give you some more Pepto-Bismol, just to make sure you keep down what you ate."

"Thanks." He nodded, and left.

* * *

He wasn't better by Saturday, though he got up that morning, and managed to eat a plain bagel with some cream cheese; Sandy schmeared it for him, but he spent most of the morning watching him suspiciously. He even broached the subject of cancelling again, but Ryan declined again. 

When the doorbell rang, Kirsten went to get it, and Sandy put a hand on Ryan's shoulder, frowning as he felt the boy shaking.

"It's OK, kid. He can't hurt you, not under our roof."

It didn't help that Ryan already knew he was lying.

Scott appeared in the doorway, a shit-eating grin on his face, and a book in one hand. "My boy." He said, and smiled again. Ryan tried to smile, but knew he'd failed. Scott, however, didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care – he just turned to Kirsten and Sandy and said, innocently. "Is there anywhere me and my kid can talk in private?"

* * *

Well, there we are then. About four or five more chapters to go, I think, and then I'll have officially finished a multi-chapter, mainstream story! Won't that be exciting?

**redhead93**: Aw, thanks! This is pretty soon, isn't it?

**Leentje**: Thanks again - it's nice to get your reviews, you always comment on the chapters, and I'm glad to know you still like it.

**Ally**: Oh, definitely not a perfect household, is it? I mean, you'd almost think it was a television series, the way they contrive things!

**LAlaRACOON:** Get some sleep... people who are awake write better reviews. Lol! I hope you like this chapter too!

**SVOC Luva/Alaina**: Have I ever told you that you have a really cool name? No? Well, you do. Sorry, that was a little beside the point, wasn't it? Oh well.You're another person who's reviewed right from the very beginning, when I didn't really think it was gonna be any good, so thank you - your reviews are always lovely, and I know exactly what you mean about Luke! I think he's a great character, just needs a bit of a push to keep him between being a geek, and a cool git. And Scott's making a habit of appearing places, isn't he? Thanks for your review, like I said, they're always lovely.

**Phil929**: Wow, thanks! That was a lovely review to get, I'm so glad you think that I've characterized his dad well. Hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

**angstyaddict**: Oh, I know. Hot Ryan... (wanders off to find a cool flannel). And don't worry. I won't have Ryan beat up in front of his foster parents. Now, Seth, on the other hand... ;-). And your review for Chapter 10 was so lovely, I spent an _entire day_ smiling because of it. You're one of the people who's reviewed all the way through, and it really means a lot to get your reviews, so thanks again for this one, and I'm so glad I'm one of your favourite authors!

**kokomocalifornia**: Yes - and look, I made him even sicker! (I'm on a roll going for the sympathy vote here.) Glad you liked it!

**MizCorinthos**You think you're strange, I'm the one who wrote it! What does that make me? I'm glad you're hooked, in my evil twisted way. Yes, this is just one of my extremely evil plans for world domination. MWAHAHAHA! Ahem. Sorry. Got a little hyper here. I'm glad you like it, and don't worry, you're not that weird, I get worried when Daddy Atwood's there too. And guess what, I put him in even more! Man, I'm odd. Sorry - and I hope my little foray into weirdom hasn't freaked you out too much...

**TeacherTam**: Yep, Papa Atwood stories are love, aren't they? I always thought they should bring him back - I mean, why make him absent? Sure, it adds to the whole 'broken home' thing, but if he's gone, bring him back! C'mon, give Ryan a bit more angst - I mean, they've done pretty much everything else to him...Anyway, I'm really happy you like it.

**hug-me**: I was rather set on the perjury idea myself, but then I thought, I just can't put him in prison again... so I didn't. I'm glad you like this one, though!

**Christina**: I've said it before (and I'll probably say it again), I love your reviews. You're always so flattering! I'm so glad you like the characterisation (Or whatever the posh literary-type people call it), and the title. I couldn't think of what to call it, so I just kinda... wrote it down, thought, 'what the hell', and left it - at least it was relevant!

**Ansy Pansy aka Panz**: Aw, thanks! Glad you like it!

**Fanny**: Nope, Ryan doesn't get any better - in fact he gets worse! Big fan of angst, me. How could I let him get better when there was still so much angst to get out of the illness? ;-)

**Duchess4ever**: Oh, I couldn't take his tough guyness away from him - that'd just be cruel! Still, I'm glad you liked the chapter - I didn't exactly update soon, but it was pretty quick... wasn't it? LOL!

OK, over and out with me. ami xxx

_I can't believe I just said 'over and out'..._


	13. For never two such kingdoms'

Geez, this is _late_. Sorry about that, people! I hope there are still people out there reading it... but it's just going a bit slowly at the moment. I have an irritating case of writers block, and I'm not really writing much of anything at the moment. On the other hand, I hope you enjoy this 'instalment'.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as usual; you're all wonderful, kind, generous and lovely people. Thank you!

DISCLAIMER: I have the DVD's. Right now, that's plenty enough for me.

(Oh, btw, for anyone who doesn't know the quote, it's from Henry V, 'For never two such kingdoms did contend/ without much fall of blood'. Sorry, I'm studying Henry V right now, and I have quotes on the brain. On the other hand, this one kind of fitted. No prizes for guessing who the warring kingdoms are...)

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 13: 'For never two such kingdoms…'**

Ryan showed him outside, onto the terrace, and Scott looked around, appreciatively.

"This is a nice place, Ryan. You really picked a good 'un here." He sat down in one of the wrought iron chairs, and grinned at his son. "I didn't get a chance to really look around, the last couple of times I was here." He paused, and watched as the boy gripped the back of the chair, a little nervously. "You gonna sit down?" he asked, still smiling, but with a bite to his words that Ryan recognised instantly. He sat.

"What do you want, Dad?" he muttered.

Scott plastered a fake look of hurt onto his face. "Oh, Ryan. I'm disappointed in you. I just want to spend a bit of time with my kid, keep you abreast of everything that's going on in my life." He leant forward, in a movement that would look like mere fatherly intimacy to anyone else, placing a hand on Ryan's knee. Ryan fought the urge to flinch as Scott's hand tightened into a bruising grip. Very, very softly, his father said, "These rich fucks won round one, Ryan. But I'm your father, and I fucking _own_ you. So don't try and piss about with me."

Ryan swallowed. "No, Dad." He nodded. "So – you've got a job?"

"Had a real nice one." Scott grunted, giving Ryan's knee one last squeeze, than pushed himself back, leaning back in the chair. "Left it after a while."

"Left it or got fired?" Ryan couldn't help that it slipped out, and tensed with fear just seconds later, after he realised what he'd said.

Scott frowned, and Ryan wrapped his arms around himself, knowing the his father wouldn't hit him here, but that he could get his own back in any number of painful ways. "Shut the fuck up, Ryan." He said, in a pleasant voice which held an undertone of pure, steely malice. Ryan knew that voice, and flinched. "But, since you ask, the management and I came to an agreement."

"Oh, right. So – where are you working now?" he asked, careful to keep his voice light and respectful. Ryan was an artist at this; he'd spent years playing this game, and he was no fool. He knew exactly what to say, when, and in which tone. Trey had always pissed his father off, and Ryan learnt from Trey's mistakes. On the other hand, his father was always so much more lenient with Trey than he was with Ryan, and Ryan could never work out why, when Trey always said or did the wrong thing.

"I'm working as head waiter in a restaurant nearby." The man said, casually, stretching his legs out in the chair, crossing them at the ankles, and crossing his arms over his chest. He regarded his son with a look of lazy amusement. "We'll be able to see a lot of each other now, _won't we_?"

Ryan swallowed again. "Yeah." He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He resisted the urge to wipe his now-sweaty hands on his jeans. "Yeah, we will." Clearing his throat, he said, after a brief pause, "So – I guess you're living in Newport, huh?"

"Of course." Scott nodded, "Renting a flat down in the numbered streets. It's not like this place, but I guess you'll learn to like it, when you're living with me."

Ryan suppressed a flinch. "I guess." He nodded again.

"So tell me, Ryan, how's school going?"

"School's going – just fine." He said, forcing a small smile. It felt foreign on his face, and only lasted a few seconds. "I go to a private school; Harbour. Its, um… it's a really good school."

"Then why on earth would they take a stupid little shit like you, huh, Ryan?" his father said it with a smile on his face, and anyone watching would have thought that this was a perfectly civil, affectionate conversation.

Ryan couldn't help it this time, and winced. He'd forgotten what this was like, the constant barrage of insults which wore away at any emotional defences he might have had. He'd kept them up as well as he could while he was with the Cohens, and the Oliver Incident, as he privately termed it, had helped to make them a little stronger, but it had been hard. After all, the Cohens never said anything derogatory. Disappointed, yes, angry, definitely, but they were never derogatory. Ryan was so unused to the constant insults, they stung that bit more now.

"I dunno." He shrugged. "I, er… I took my SATs recently – I think that was important to them…"

"Oh, yeah? And how did you do in your SATs? Oh, wait, I guess you're one of the thick kids the school has to take, so they can say they cater to a wide range of needs, right?"

Ryan shrugged, determined not to let the man get to him – or at least, not to show him how much he got to him. "Probably." He nodded, unwilling to have an argument with his father when he knew Scott would beat him to a pulp at the slightest opportunity.

There was a pause. Finally, Scott said, softly, "I suppose you haven't – told – them anything about us?"

Instantly, Ryan was on the alert. "What? What do you mean?"

"None of those lies about your mother and me, those lies that teacher of yours told a while back?"

Ryan remembered vividly the teacher who pressed charges against his father, when he found him beaten and bloody on the way to school. Even then, aged about seven, Ryan had had the sense to keep quiet, and to say that he was bullied. However, when he couldn't give a clear description of any of his 'bullies', the teacher's lips had pursed, and he had marched Ryan into the principal's office. The next fortnight or so had been a blur for Ryan, until he found himself back at home, the teacher fired, and his school apologising vociferously to his father for the inconvenience.

That had been back in Fresno, but after the beating his father gave him that night, Ryan had never tried telling anyone about anything which was done to him – whether it was by his father, or AJ, or any other of his mother's string of boyfriends.

"No." he muttered. "I wouldn't, Dad. I don't tell lies like that."

"You better make damn sure you never do." Scott said, smiling still. Ryan found it unnerving, the way he was talking, threatening, but smiling as if they were having a nice, friendly chat, catching up the way he, Ryan, had told Seth he wanted to. "Or I'll rip your fucking tongue out, do you get me, Ryan?"

"Yeah." He whispered. "I get you."

"Good." Scott nodded once. He put an elbow on the patterned, wrought iron table, and leant his head on his hand. "So, Ryan – do you like these people, these _foster parents_ of yours?" He made 'foster parent' sound like some sort of child molester.

Ryan weighed the answers for that question, desperately trying to judge which the right one would be, quickly enough that his father didn't think the answer was false. If he said he disliked them, Scott would kick up a massive fuss, and they might all end up in court again. On the other hand, if he said he liked them, Scott might decide to put them out of the picture permanently, and Ryan would kill himself if anything like that ever happened to the Cohens because of him. A split second later, he shrugged, deciding apathy was the best course. "They're OK." He shrugged. "They've given me a place to live. They didn't have to."

"Yeah." Scott nodded, looking round the yard with an acquisitive eye, "Like I said, you hit the jackpot here, son. Really sweet place they've got, isn't it?" his eyes fixed on his son again, and Ryan almost flinched, but kept a rigid hold on himself. "But, y'know, Ry, I just want to know what you're giving them back, for this?"

Ryan knew his father too well not to know what he was thinking, but he found he couldn't answer. He didn't know what to say.

"I, er…" he stuttered out. "I, I guess… N-nothing, dad, I'm not p-paying them anything…"

Scott raised an eyebrow, slowly. "Re-eally?" he said, dragging the word out, in disbelief.

"Yeah." Ryan nodded, a little firmer now. "They've never asked for anything from me."

"Well, see, you would say that, wouldn't you?" Scott pointed out, lazily. "You've got a nice, soft living here, rich people looking after you, and if you've got to put out for that, I guess you'd think that that's OK. I mean, living in the lap of luxury, and all for hardly anything? You must've improved since I saw you last." Ryan flushed an angry red, helpless against his father, and hating it. "Maybe I should file against them for abuse. I guess they'd find all sorts of interest things, when they examined you, wouldn't they, Ry?"

"The only injuries of that sort they'd find would be from seven years ago, and from you!" Ryan snapped back, and immediately regretted it. It was his father's temper, which spoke without thinking, and took the consequences fighting. Ryan thought he'd trained that out of himself, and it only flared occasionally – but when it did, he always, always regretted it.

Now was no exception. Scott leant forwards, and picked up Ryan's hand, in a fatherly-seeming gesture, crushing it in one fist, and digging his short, rough nails into the boy's palm.

"I thought you didn't tell lies like that, Ryan." He said, calmly.

Ryan looked at him, helplessly. "You said it first." He muttered, eventually.

"Said what? I don't think I'd tell lies about myself, would I? No. So, you've been telling dirty lies about me, have you? I bet those rich fucks think I abused you. I bet you told them that I did…" Scott's hand squeezed Ryan's so tightly that tears came to his eyes, and when he replied, his voice was taut with pain.

"I haven't said anything, Dad." He choked out.

"So what did you mean, just then?" Scott asked, pleasantly, loosening his grip on Ryan's hand very slightly. The boy shook his head.

"Nothing." He said, his voice less pained, but weary and defeated now. "I didn't mean anything at all."

"Good." Scott let go of his son's palm, and Ryan hissed in relief. He didn't do anything to stop it throbbing, though – he just ignored it, didn't touch it, didn't even look at it. That would show a weakness, which would be intolerable, in front of his father.

Scott opened his mouth to speak, and Ryan braced himself for the next emotional barrage, when he heard the terrace door open. The boy couldn't force himself to turn round and look, but prayed it wouldn't be Seth or Kirsten.

_Please, let it be Sandy, please let it be Sandy…_ he chanted mentally.

He jumped when he felt a large, warm hand come down on his shoulder and squeeze gently. Sandy's warm voice, hard and suspicious now, said, quietly,

"How are you two doing out here? Can I get you a drink, Mr. Atwood, before you go?"

"Before I go?" Scott said, sounding surprised, "I didn't know it was time to leave yet."

"Oh, yes." Sandy nodded, over-pleasantly. "The judge said an hour, twice a week. Those were the arrangements, Mr. Atwood, and it's been an hour to the second since you arrived, so I'm going to ask you to leave pretty soon – but can I get you a drink before you go? I wouldn't want you to think we were being rude to you." His tone bordered on insolent, and Ryan managed not to smile, but felt his father's eyes on him, focussing especially on the hand on his shoulder. Ryan squirmed. His father managed to make Sandy's innocent, supportive gesture feel somehow dirty.

"No. No drink, thank you." He stood, and shifted in his jacket, moving it to make it comfortable. "Well, Ryan, I'll see you in a few days, alright?" Ryan nodded. "Well, don't you have a hug for your old man?" his voice held a dangerous edge, the same edge Ryan had heard and recognised earlier. He made to stand, but Sandy's hand on his shoulder kept him in his chair.

"Ryan's sick, Mr. Atwood. I wouldn't want you to catch his germs. It might make you miss your next visiting session." Scott glared at him; Sandy smiled back, pleasant and unruffled. "I guess we'll see you this Wednesday then?"

"Of course." Scott nodded, pulling his own mask of pleasantry back on with a visible effort. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Of course not. Four o'clock on Wednesday it is, then. Well, I'll see you out."

The two men left Ryan sitting on the porch, feeling drained and sick. After a few moments, Sandy came back in, and took the chair which Scott had recently vacated. He gave Ryan a sympathetic smile, and said, gently,

"You OK, kid?"

Ryan managed a nod, though he thought he might be sick.

"You don't look well, Ry, you'd better get up to bed again. If you're still not well tomorrow, I'm going to call the doctor again." He helped Ryan up, and followed him back into the kitchen. "Plus, I'm sure you can get out of visiting hours if you're sick. That'd be good, right?"

Ryan didn't know what else to do but nod. The problem was, if Scott couldn't visit, he'd find some other, more permanent way to see his son. Ryan knew his father was trying to do that already, but not being able to visit would just force him to do that more quickly, and that was something he, Ryan, was far from keen to encourage.

* * *

Somehow, this ended up just being one episode, as it were - it doesn't jump around. I kinda like it, though... hope you did too!

By the way, I've officially stopped thanking everyone individually for their reviews, because apparently it's against site rules, or something, and you wouldn't want me to get banned, now, would you? Your reviews mean so, so much to me, I just can't say thank you properly. On the other hand, if you send me a PM, I will reply, as from now. Sometimes it's a bit difficult, because I go to a boarding school which bans but, though it may be a little late, I will reply eventually.

Thanks again!

LOL! ami xxx


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